


Blood/Magic

by janewestin



Series: Blood Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, True Blood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janewestin/pseuds/janewestin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen years after the battle for Hogwarts, Hermione saves a vampire's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time for some AMATEUR PHOTOSHOP (raise your hand if you read too many VC Andrews novels as a teenager):
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> [](http://www.flickr.com/photos/79652383@N07/7594595516/)  
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> Timelines: 
> 
> I've used dates from the Harry Potter Wikia site: http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page
> 
> As such, Hermione is 33; Severus is 52. Eric, of course, is somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand.
> 
> Alterations to Rowling canon: Severus survived the battle; Ron and Hermione had no children.
> 
> This is set at the end of Season 3 of True Blood, five years after vampires have come out of the coffin. Spoilers for True Blood abound!
> 
> Thanks to lazaefair for beta-reading (and for providing inspiration - without that meme, this story wouldn't exist, and it was just such fun to write!).

_June 6_

 

She found him smoldering, and what else could she do?

 

" _Mobilicorpus,_ " she murmured, lifting his charred and ashen body. She performed a quick spell to keep Muggles from noticing him, and then she carried him home with her.

 

She put him on the kitchen floor, because, after all, the potions and ingredients she needed were in the apothecary's cabinet (and admittedly it did cross her mind that she'd hoovered all the carpets in her small apartment only two days before and it wouldn't do to have cinders all over them already). Then, trying to ignore his quiet moans of pain, she set about healing him.

 

It took less than a quarter of an hour for her to realize that there was something very, very different about him. When the third potion did nothing, she dropped to her hands and knees beside him. Put her fingers to his blackened throat and felt no pulse. Pulled her hair back and pressed her ear to his inexplicably intact T-shirt: silence.

 

"What are you?" she whispered.

 

The single word he uttered was barely audible.

 

" _Blood,_ " he rasped.

 

Oh, for God's sake. She'd brought home a vampire.

 

"Is blood _really_ the only thing that will heal you up?" she asked, annoyed. "Because I'm rather attached to mine, actually."

 

His eyes opened then, and if she didn't know better, she would have thought he was giving her a withering look.

 

"Blood," he said again.

 

" _Nullus confundum_ ," Hermione said, exasperated. "Ugh." She got to her feet and reached for the knife block. She selected the sharpest one she had.

 

"You'd better appreciate this," she said, and carefully opened the vein at her wrist.

 

When the first drop touched his lips, he opened his mouth. By the third, he was trying to grab her arm.

 

She jerked her hand away. "I _don't_ think so," she said. "If you can't be civilized about it, you'll have to find your blood elsewhere."

 

That look again. His eyes, she saw, were blue.

 

She dripped blood into his mouth until the cut on her wrist started to clot. He grunted impatiently.

 

"Oh, just hang on." She stuck her arm under the faucet, wincing, until the wound re-opened and bled freely once more.

 

At two minutes, the char started to crumble and fall away. At four, he was moving and shifting. At ten -- as she was starting to wonder if he would _ever_ finish healing -- he sighed, long and loud, and there was a blur of movement and a _whoosh_ of ashy air, and he was standing beside her.

 

"You could have warned me," she said, coughing.

 

He didn't appear to have heard her. "I can fix that, if you want," he said, taking her wrist in his fingers.

 

She glared up at him. "A thank you would suffice," she said, pulling her hand away. "And just how would you fix it, anyway?"

 

He tapped his throat with two fingers. "Vampire blood has healing powers," he said.

 

Her eyebrows went up. "Does it, now?"

 

"It does." He opened his mouth, just a little, and she saw his fangs. "Are you sure?"

 

"Quite sure," she said. "I assume that these healing powers aren't common knowledge."

 

"You assume correctly," Eric said.

 

"Why not?"

 

He rolled his eyes. "If you were carrying a cure for most injuries and illnesses around in your body, would you want six billion humans knowing about it?"

 

"Hm." She tilted her head. "Good point."

 

"Right." The fangs snapped back.

 

"In any case," she said, "I don't need it." She went to her apothecary's cabinet and retrieved the little glass bottle of healing potion. A few drops, and the wound closed.

 

He was at her side immediately. "What is that?"

 

"Excuse me," she said crossly, "I don't even know your name."

 

"Eric Northman." He kept his eyes on the bottle. "Where'd you get that?"

 

"None of your business, thanks." Hermione replaced the bottle in the cabinet. As an afterthought, she found the blood replenishing potion and, shuddering, swallowed a noxious mouthful. "Yuck."

 

He turned his gaze on her. "Who are you?" he asked.

 

"You ask a lot of questions." Hermione locked the cabinet.

 

"So would you, if you woke up in a strange apartment with a strange woman who has a bottle of something that shouldn't do what it does." His posture slackened visibly, and he sauntered away from her.

 

"It won't work on you anyway," Hermione said.

 

"What about a fairy?" He looked at her over his shoulder.

 

Hermione frowned. He was too casual, too relaxed. "You're clearly trying to hide something," she said. "I don't particularly care what it is, but if you're thinking of stealing any of these potions, you should know that there are Tracing spells on everything I own and I _will_ get them back."

 

"Tracing spells?" He spun to face her.

 

"I don't think I need to hide from _you,_ " she said, tapping the wand tucked into her belt. "Witch."

 

He studied her, his gaze even and assessing. "Wiccan?"

 

"One of those ridiculous hippies who fanny about in diaphanous gowns sprinkling salt in their footprints?" She scoffed. "Hardly. They're about as magic as the deli department of the Piggly Wiggly."

 

"So you're the real thing."

 

In response, Hermione flicked her wand at him. Immediately, his T-shirt burst into blue flames.

 

"Goddamn it." He batted at them.

 

Another wave of her wand, and the flames were gone. "Proof enough?" she asked coolly. Then: "Now that you're healed, I think you ought to be on your way."

 

"Wait a minute." He came toward her. "That liquid."

 

"Potion," she corrected.

 

"Potion." He rolled his eyes. "Right, whatever. Potion. You didn't answer my question. Would it work on a fairy?"

 

She shrugged. "That depends."

 

"On what?" He was staring at her intently. His eyes were really _blue._

 

"On what kind of fairy you're trying to heal." She crossed her arms. "There are fifty-three different types of fey. It might work on a humanoid fairy. Likely not on the more far-removed ones. It'd be quite dangerous to try, though -- these are potions for humans."

 

"I'd like that potion," he said.

 

"No," she said.

 

"Give me the potion." Still staring.

 

There was a long silence.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, after a moment, "it's not up for discussion."

 

Finally he broke eye contact and scowled. "What the -- "

 

"You can't glamour me." Hermione let herself smile.

 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then: "How did you -- "

 

"I'm not an idiot," Hermione said, smirking. "As soon as I realized you were a vampire, I enchanted myself."

 

"How -- " He shook his head. "Impossible."

 

Hermione chuckled. "Not impossible." She put her hand on the doorknob. "Now," she said, "it's dark out, and I have work to do. If you please. And oh -- " she opened the door -- "just in case there was any...ambiguity...I revoke your invitation." She smiled at him.

 

He went.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Two nights later, he was standing on her doorstep.

 

"What do _you_ want?" she said.

 

"You're interesting." He looked better, as _better_ as someone undead could: blond hair neatly swept back, black leather jacket, black tank top, black jeans. He was wearing a pair of expensive-looking boots that, Hermione gauged, were not actually distressed by any sort of manual labor. "May I come in?"

 

"You may not." Hermione took her keys out of the basket, stepped onto the porch, and closed the door behind her. "You _may,_ however, tell me why you've reappeared at my door at eleven o'clock at night."

 

"What's your name?" he said, following her down the stairs.

 

"Hermione." She let him catch up, then walked to the bench in front of her building and sat down.

 

"I couldn't exactly invite you to brunch," he pointed out. He sat down beside her.

 

She sniffed. "I don't know why you'd invite me to anything," she said.

 

"Are you always this snooty?" He was frowning at her.

 

She raised an eyebrow. "Snooty?"

 

"Yes, snooty."

 

"You hardly have room to talk, Eric," Hermione said. "You barged into my house -- "

 

"You brought me in," Eric interrupted.

 

" -- didn't even _apologize_ for _utterly_ dirtying my kitchen, didn't breathe a _word_ of thanks for saving your life -- "

 

"You didn't save my life."

 

" -- tried to _glamour_ me and _steal my things,_ and on top of all that -- " She glared at him. "You seem incapable of not interrupting me."

 

"If you wouldn't talk so much, I wouldn't have to interrupt," Eric said irritably.

 

"I don't know why I'm fighting with you," Hermione said. "You're nobody to me."

 

"We're not fighting."

 

"Fine." She folded her arms and sat back. "Then what are we doing? Inasmuch as there's a _we_ , which realistically, actually, there is not."

 

"Do you make those potions yourself?" Eric asked.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

 

"Because if you do," Eric said, "I want to hire you."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Hire me?" Hermione looked at Eric blankly.

 

"Yes, hire you," Eric said. "What part of that are you not understanding?"

 

Hermione felt her face heat up. "I don't think I'm exactly -- I mean, I'm not sure why you'd want me to -- "

 

"So is that a yes, then?" Eric interrupted.

 

Hermione took a deep breath to compose herself. "For what, exactly, would you be hiring me?" she asked.

 

Eric looked away. "I need a way to heal a fairy."

 

"I assumed that wasn't a hypothetical," Hermione said. She frowned. "What kind of fairy?"

 

"Don't know," Eric said. "They were supposed to be extinct."

 

She looked at him sidelong. "I thought that vampire blood had healing properties."

 

"It does." Eric paused. "But there are magical creatures who can inflict injuries we are unable to heal with our blood alone. Basilisks. Maenads. I might not be there. And when she is injured in a more...conventional way, she requires..." Another pause. His eyebrows twitched upward. "More than usual."

 

Hermione chewed her lower lip. "I'm not sure I'm qualified," she said. "I haven't done much work with healing potions for magical non-human species, and I've never worked with anything fey other than the odd Cornish pixie."

 

"But you've made potions for other..." He paused. "Species."

 

"Ye-es." She drew out the word, still frowning. "I suppose it's possible, given enough time and resources. How sick is this fairy?"

 

"She's not sick at all, currently," Eric said. "And resources -- won't be a problem. Anything you need, I can get."

 

"That's a big promise." Hermione raised her eyebrows.

 

Eric's lips curled in a small smile. "I know," he said.

 

"I'll need to see her," Hermione said slowly. "And I'll need to consult some of my colleagues back home."

 

"But you'll do it," Eric said insistently.

 

"I -- "

 

"Ten thousand dollars," Eric said, and Hermione almost choked.

 

"Ten thousand -- " She broke off. "You can't be serious."

 

"Hermione." Eric looked at her evenly. "I don't joke about sums of that magnitude. Nor about tasks of this import."

 

Hermione sighed. "Let me look into it," she said. "I won't promise anything yet."

 

"Don't take too long," Eric said.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_Fireplace, June 14, 9 o'clock your time._

 

Severus's letter -- the script still shaky, even after years of left-handedness -- arrived the day after Hermione sent off her owl. She ran her fingers over the uneven scrawl, the heavy inkblot at the end of "time."

 

London would be muggy this time of year, still tolerable, nothing like the wet, stifling heat of Louisiana in the summer. She never doubted her decision to spend this time in the States -- eight publications in her first year, after all, and she'd learned absolutely _loads_ from the voodoo queens and hoodoo conjurers, and on top of that her Creole was now nearly flawless  -- but sometimes she thought about Harry and Ginny and even Ron and it pierced her heart. And Severus...

 

She pulled the throw tighter around her shoulders and closed her eyes. Well. She was nothing if not practical, and sometimes the past was just the past.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

She was by the fireplace at a quarter till nine, waiting. When Severus's head appeared, she had to fight the urge to reach into the emerald flames and put her hands on his face.

 

"Hi," she said instead.

 

He didn't meet her gaze, not really, and she saw it even though his right eye was barely visible beneath the drooping lid. "I don't think it's a good idea," he said.

 

"But it can be done." She stretched out on her stomach, put her chin in her hands.

 

He sighed. "It's...difficult, making potions for non-humans. Inadvisable. Dangerous."

 

"Severus." She scooted to her left, trying to make him look at her. "You did it for Remus for years."

 

"That was different." His words were heavy, slow: he'd never quite recovered his ability to express himself. "He was...almost human."

 

"So is she." Hermione paused. "Or so Eric says."

 

"Eric." The name sounded sour on Severus's lips. The left side of his mouth drew down, mirroring the right. "The vampire."

 

Hermione felt her stomach tighten. Why did she suddenly feel defensive?

 

"He seems like a decent enough person," she said.

 

"Ron seemed decent, too." The scowl deepened.

 

"Will you help me or not?" Hermione said sharply.

 

There was a long pause. Finally he sighed. Nodded.

 

"Send me an inventory of your stores," he said, and she heard resignation in his voice. "I'll begin some preliminary calculations." He paused. "I won't be able to...execute much."

 

Her chest tightened, that old, familiar guilt. "I know," she said. "It's all right."

 

"Has to be, doesn't it," he said.

 

"Severus -- " she started, but he interrupted her.

 

"The inventory," he said. "Don't forget."

 

There was the soft _pop_ of the Floo network, and he was gone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 

She called Eric the next evening.

 

"I'll do it," she said, when he answered.

 

"I'll have five thousand wired to any account you want," he replied. "The other half when it's done."

 

"I can't promise anything."

 

"So you've said," he said tersely. "Let's hope you can pull it off regardless."

 

"I need to see her," Hermione said. "I might need hair, blood."

 

"Not a problem."

 

She thought about her tiny stovetop. "I need a proper workspace, also," she added. "A laboratory, preferably, but a large kitchen would work as well."

 

"Done," Eric said. "What else?"

 

"I'll take care of the rest," Hermione said, because although Eric was apparently quite wealthy, she doubted he would be able to obtain Flitterby moths or shrivelfigs. "When can I see her?"

 

"Now, if you want," Eric said.

 

"She's with you?"

 

He paused. "No," he said after a moment, "but we'll go to her."

 

He was at Hermione's door in fifteen minutes. " _Now_ can I come in?" he asked.

 

"I suppose." She stepped back.

 

When he didn't move, she folded her arms. "Well?"

 

He rolled his eyes. "Acquiescence isn't an invitation," he said.

 

" _Oh._ " She couldn't keep exasperation out of her tone. "I'm so sorry." She made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "Mr. Northman, won't you come in?"

 

"You are -- " He brushed past her. "Really persistently unpleasant."

 

"Thank you. I think you're delightful too," she said.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The fairy -- Sookie -- looked remarkably human. And _angry._

 

"I'm Hermione," Hermione said, but Sookie was looking at Eric.

 

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

 

Hermione looked at Eric. "You get that a lot, I see," she said.

 

"Sookie, I fear you are in danger," Eric said.

 

"God, it's like I hear that _constantly._ " Sookie rolled her eyes. Then she smiled at Hermione. "Hi. I'm so sorry. I'm Sookie. Won't you come in?"

 

Hermione went in, looking back with amusement when Sookie barred the door with her arm.

 

" _Not_ you," she said to Eric. "You wait out here. Or go away. I don't care which."

 

She closed the door on Eric's frown and turned to Hermione. "I like your accent," she said.

 

Hermione returned the smile. "Thanks."

 

Up close, it was obvious Sookie was under stress. She was pale (although admittedly Hermione wasn't entirely sure what a normal skin shade was, for a fairy; the vampires were pretty washed out) and tired-looking and there were enormous circles under her eyes.

 

"So you're the fairy in distress," Hermione said.

 

Sookie's smile turned into a mutinous scowl. "I wish they'd quit saying that," she said. "I am not -- and apparently never have been -- in any distress."

 

Hermione glanced toward the door. "I'm sorry. I suppose I'm not really understanding. What -- "

 

"Eric has this hero complex," Sookie said. She moved toward the living room. "He thinks he needs to save me from everything and everyone." Her voice was suddenly strained. "Although when it came to my _boyfriend_ , I guess it might've been a little bit true."

 

"What happened?" The question was out of Hermione's mouth before she could think about it. "I'm sorry. I mean -- "

 

"No, it's okay." Sookie sat down on the couch, looked at her hands, sighed. "It's a long story. Short version is that he wasn't who I thought he was and he was pretty much just using me."

 

"Is he the one who..." Hermione paused. "Hurts you?"

 

Sookie huffed softly. "Bill? God no. I mean, there was one time -- but that wasn't his fault." She reached up and loosed her hair from its ponytail, shook it down around her shoulders. "Eric thinks there are vampires -- really powerful vampires -- who are going to kidnap me for my blood."

 

Hermione's mouth was opening to say _Why_ , but Sookie was still talking. "Fairy blood is apparently powerful, or something. For vampires." She paused, looked shrewdly at Hermione. "You don't believe me."

 

Hermione blinked. "I -- what? Of course I -- "

 

"I promise you," Sookie said, "it's not my boyfriend hurting me. Ex-boyfriend. Eric just wants...a backup plan." She tilted her head to one side. "The blood-replenishing potion might be an idea."

 

"Eric never said fairies were telepathic," Hermione said, sitting down next to Sookie.

 

Sookie smiled. "I don't know if all of us are," she said. "I've only met one person like me."

 

_Can I shield myself from you?_

 

"Oh sure," Sookie said. "Probably one of those spells of yours."

 

"I'd prefer to talk out loud, I think," Hermione said.

 

"Okay." Sookie brushed her palms on her thighs. "So. What do I need to do?"

 

Hermione sighed. "I've never made a potion for a fairy before. But I think...hair. And blood." She reached into her bag and pulled out the little phlebotomy kit she'd assembled, needles and a tourniquet and heparinized vacuum tubes. She set it on the coffee table.

 

"Wow." Sookie reached for one of the vials and twirled it between her fingers. "You came prepared." She put the tube down and stuck her arm out. "Draw away."

 

"It'll take some time, I think," Hermione said, opening one of the smaller needles. "To make the potions. The ones for humans take a while. I still need to do some research on effective ingredients for fey." She tied the tourniquet around Sookie's upper arm, then tore open an alcohol swab and wiped it in widening circles across the skin at her inner elbow.

 

"Ready?" she asked, pulling on gloves.

 

Sookie closed her eyes. "Ready."

 

"One, two, three." Hermione slid the needle in on two, hearing Sookie's soft gasp. She'd had plenty of practice finding veins on mice; a person was an easy stick. She filled four tubes.

 

"Done," she said, pulling the needle out and pressing gauze to the wound. "Hold here. Please."

 

"I feel like such a baby when it comes to needles." Sookie held the gauze and tilted her head toward Hermione. "Hair?"

 

"Yes, thanks." Hermione plucked out several strands. She unscrewed a vial and carefully coiled the hairs inside.

 

"Is that all you need?" Sookie asked.

 

"I think so." Hermione put the vial and tubes of blood into a plastic bag. "If I need anything else, can I call you?"

 

"'Course," Sookie said. "Anything I can do, I will." She looked at Hermione. "And, um, thanks."

 

Hermione averted her gaze and shook her head. "Don't thank me," she said. "Eric's paying me."

 

"That doesn't mean thanks aren't in order." Sookie peeked at her arm under the gauze. "It's stopped bleeding."

 

"Good." Hermione looked around, feeling awkward.

 

"You have to go," Sookie said, clearly reading Hermione's thoughts. "I won't keep you. Eric's probably still on the porch."

 

"It was nice meeting you," Hermione said, standing.

 

"You too," Sookie said. "Maybe sometime we can have margaritas. Something like that."

 

Hermione smiled. "I'd like that," she said.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_June 20_

 

The banging on Hermione's door scared her so badly she was on her feet, wand drawn, before she knew she was awake. " _Lumos,_ " she whispered, not wanting to turn on a light in case it actually was a burglar.

 

Then she heard the shouting. "Hermione, it's Eric, let me in."

 

"Good lord," she muttered. " _Nox_." She went to the door, still holding her wand in front of her, and pulled it open. "Haven't you ever heard of a phone?"

 

He pushed past her, seeming not to have heard. "Sookie's missing," he said tightly.

 

Hermione lowered her wand. "Missing?"

 

"For two days now." Eric paced the floor, one hand raking through his hair. "I can't find her anywhere. Neither can Bill."

 

He looked at her then, and she saw his fear.

 

"Sit down," she said.

 

"You don't have any way of finding her," he said. She wasn't sure if it was a question.

 

"I -- " Hermione took a breath. "I don't think so. I'm sorry. If I knew anything at all about Divination -- but I haven't so much as _looked_ at a crystal ball since school."

 

He did sit down then, sinking to the couch, and put his head in his hands.

 

She sat next to him and cautiously put a hand on his shoulder.

 

"You're cold," she said in surprise.

 

He looked at her. "Of course I'm cold," he said flatly.

 

"Right, of course. I'm sorry." She dropped her hand.

 

He was silent for so long that she started to wonder if he was going to sit there like a rock all night. When she started to nod off, he stood. He didn't say good night. He just walked out, closing the door softly behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_July 1_

 

When she didn't hear from Eric for over a week, she called him.

 

He picked up on the second ring. "What?"

 

"Nothing," Hermione said, flustered by his terse salutation. "I mean...what I mean is..."

 

"Sookie isn't back." His voice was flat and cold.

 

"I just wanted to see if you were..." She paused. "All right," she finished lamely.

 

"I'm fine," he said.

 

She hesitated, trying to figure out what to say next. "If you tell me where to send it, I'll return the money today."

 

"The money?" Eric said sharply. "No. You'll finish the job."

 

"But she's -- "

 

"She'll come home." She could almost hear him scowling. "And she'll need that potion when she does."

 

"Right." Hermione exhaled hard. "Of course."

 

Her phone beeped. He'd disconnected the call.

 

"Well, _really,_ " Hermione said crossly.

 

She'd lost a few days, then, if Eric still wanted the potion. She reached for parchment and a quill. Scrawled a letter to Severus. A quick spell sent into the air, and almost at once an owl was swooping in through her window.

 

"Thanks," she said to the owl, tying the letter to its leg.

 

It hooted once, then took off into the night sky. Severus would have her letter by morning.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_July 3_

 

She'd stayed with Harry and Ginny in the past, but they'd been awfully busy since Lily was born, so this time she got a room at the Leaky Cauldron. She wasn't there an hour when an owl from Severus arrived.

 

_Initial ingredient list compiled. Come by tomorrow._

 

She wrote back quickly. _Yes, thanks. Looking forward to seeing you._

 

A second owl arrived a moment later, bearing a note from Ginny. _I can't believe you're here! Come for dinner tonight, please, 7 o'clock. Lots of love._

 

Since Ginny was breastfeeding, Hermione picked up flowers instead of wine, and a small packet of chocolates for James and Albus. She arrived ten minutes early, but no one seemed to mind.

 

"Hermione!" Ginny squealed, when she opened the door. She wrapped her free arm around Hermione and dragged her inside. "Ooh, I missed you so much. How long are you staying?"

 

Hermione hugged her back, laughing, kissing Lily's round cheek and dodging her waving fist. "I don't know," she said. "Not more than a week, I think, but it depends. Oh, boys!"

 

Albus and James had wrapped themselves around her waist, one on each side, both pulling at her and chattering rapid-fire.

 

"You're so tall," she said, kneeling to hug them.

 

"I'm bigger," James said proudly.

 

"No, me, I big!" Albus swiped at James with one hand.

 

"No fighting." Harry came into the foyer. "Hi, Hermione!"

 

She stood and hugged him. "Hi."

 

He sliced tomatoes and she sliced cucumbers and she didn't know what to say when he asked, "Are you going to see Ron?" Because it was still strange to think about Ron, even after nearly five years.

 

"I don't know," she said.

 

"That's fair," he replied. He stopped slicing for a moment, then: "And Severus?"

 

She nodded. "Tomorrow."

 

"Hermione -- "

 

"Let's not," she said, forcing her tone to stay light, forcing herself to smile. "Please, Harry. Not now. Not quite yet. Let's just have a nice dinner, okay?"

 

He sighed. "Okay."

 

But after dinner, when Ginny and the kids went downstairs to the playroom, he pulled her aside. He took the wine glass out of her hand and set it on the counter. "There's something you ought to know," he said.

 

She felt trepidation start to bubble up in her chest. "What?" she said.

 

"Severus." He paused. "Dean says he's stopped taking the potion."

 

She froze. "What do you mean, _he's stopped taking the potion?_ "

 

"Dean said he's been making it monthly, just like you taught him. Doesn't miss a dose. But over the past four months, he won't take it." Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "He just lines them up on the windowsill. Like they were. Before."

 

"Well, did you try to talk to him?" Hermione felt her heart thumping, panic twisting her stomach. Without that potion, Severus would revert to what he was, and that could not happen. That absolutely could not happen.

 

" _Yes,_ I tried to talk to him." She heard the edge in Harry's voice and felt guilty; she was the one, after all, who was half a world away.

 

Of course, she was also the one who had persisted after Harry had given up.

 

"I'm sorry," she said. She took a deep breath. There was no sense in escalating. She couldn't get to the castle any quicker tonight -- the one time they tried to Apparate far enough away from the grounds and hike in turned out to be disastrous, weather-wise -- so all she could do...

 

"Harry," she said, "may I borrow your owl?"

 

"Fezziwig? Sure." Harry nodded toward the stairs. "He's in his roost in the attic, most likely."

 

She recognized Fezziwig when she got to the roost, of course; it was the same owl that had delivered Ginny's dinner invitation. She tied her letter to Severus to his leg and off he streaked.

 

"All right?" Harry asked.

 

"Yes, thanks." Hermione looked around for her jumper. "Believe I'll let you get the kids to bed, yeah?"

 

"Come by later this week, if you're free," Harry said, hugging her. "Will you say 'bye to Gin before you go?"

 

"Of course." Hermione trotted down the stairs. "Ginny, I'm off."

 

"Oh!" Ginny jumped to her feet and scampered over to Hermione -- liberated, at least for the moment, of Lily. She gave her a rib-crushing hug.

 

"Do have some fun while you're here," she said. "And come by this week, please oh please! Harry can watch the kids and we'll nip off to Harrod's, yeah?"

 

"Definitely," Hermione said. "Yeah."

 

She kissed the boys and Lily good-bye, put on her jumper, and went into the street.

 

"I was wondering when you'd be done," said a rough voice, directly in her ear.

 

Without thinking, she spun away, her hand going to her wand. Before she could form the word _Stupefy_ , though, her back was against the streetlight and Eric had her by the shoulders.

 

"Careful." Eric's smile was dangerous.

 

She had to catch her breath before she could speak. "Eric Northman, I swear on every book I own that if you do that again I will curse you back to -- " She broke off. "Where were you born?"

 

He frowned. "Norway."

 

"Back to Norway," she continued. "Cruciatus across the Atlantic Ocean, even. Let go of my shoulders. Let _go."_ She shook his hands off.

 

He didn't move backwards, though. He still stood six inches from her, bending significantly to meet her eyes. "More magic?" he asked, his tone almost mocking.

 

"You could call it that." She stuck her nose up against his. "And it's going to continue unless you _stop_ with the blurry-motion traveling. It is _unbelievably_ disorienting."

 

He backed away. "You're not the boss of me," he said, smirking.

 

"It's called _common courtesy,_ you reanimated heathen," Hermione snapped. She picked up her purse, which she'd dropped when she drew her wand, and resumed walking to her car.

 

He followed her. "Aren't you even the slightest bit curious why I'm here?"

 

"No," she said, not slowing down.

 

"So you're not interested in knowing that I sought your companionship in my time of sorrow." He took two steps for every three of hers.

 

"I can't imagine _why,"_ Hermione replied, although the thought of Eric seeking her company did send a little thrill of excitement up her spine. She wasn't attracted to him, of course, but it was rather flattering that a vampire wanted her consolation.

 

"Because the woman I love has vanished," Eric explained.

 

Hermione huffed with exasperation. "Not what I meant."

 

He made a low noise that might have been a chuckle. "I know," he said. "Is this your car?"

 

"Rental." Hermione unlocked the small red Renault, frowning when he slid inside. "What do you think you're doing?"

 

"Well, I didn't exactly make travel plans before I chased after you," Eric said. "And you're not easy to find. How did you get here? By raft?"

 

"Never mind that." Hermione started the car. "Seatbelt."

 

He gave her a disbelieving look. "May I remind you -- "

 

"Undead or not, it's the law. Seatbelt or you walk."

 

He fastened the seatbelt.

 

After a few minutes, he asked, "Where are we going?"

 

"Aren't you afraid Sookie will come back and you won't be there?" Hermione asked, ignoring his question.

 

His expression darkened. "If she comes back, I'll know," he said.

 

"Oh?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Tracing spell on a fairy, then?"

 

He snorted. "Hardly."

 

"Then what?"

 

He looked out the window. "She drank my blood," he said.

 

There was a long silence.

 

"Pardon," Hermione said, "but you say that like I'm supposed to know what it means."

 

He rolled his eyes. "It _means,_ " he said, sounding exasperated, "that if she's frightened, or in peril, I know it at once and can find her."

 

"Oh." Hermione considered this. "Like a burglar alarm. Or one of those microchips with a GPS in it that they use on old people."

 

He glared at her. " _Not_ like that."

 

"Spidey-sense?" She smiled sweetly at him.

 

"I'm not talking to you." He drew his brow down and resumed looking out the window.

 

Hermione briefly considered telling him that his seat could be moved back, so he wouldn't have to sit with his knees directly under his chin. She decided against it. He was _awfully_ cranky.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

There was only one room in the Leaky Cauldron with windows small enough that the sunlight could be completely blocked, and it was occupied. As was every other room in the place.

 

"We could just get you a vampire hotel in London proper," Hermione pointed out.

 

"No can do." Eric cast his eyes to the side. "There are certain...interested parties...at home. I don't know who they know. So I'd rather remain discreet."

 

"Discreet," Hermione repeated slowly. "Eric, is there something I ought to know?"

 

"Only that they are domestic issues and there is no need to make them international ones," Eric said shortly.

 

"But it sounds like -- "

 

"In other words," Eric interrupted her, swinging his gaze back to hers, "stop asking questions."

 

"All right," Hermione said crossly. "Fine. I'll see what I can do." She stood.

 

"Thanks," Eric called from behind her. He didn't sound grateful at all.

 

"Tommy," Hermione said, leaning on the bar, for it was old Tom's son running the place these days, "can't the room be swapped out?"

 

Tommy shook his head regretfully. "No, miss, it's Mrs. Durbin, it is, and she's quite particular about her rooms." He lowered his voice to a conspirator's whisper. "Her cats, you know."

 

Hermione didn't point out that it was rather silly to act like having pets in a room was a covert operation when one was actually the owner of the establishment. Instead, she looked around the room. "Say, Tommy, which one's Mrs. Durbin?"

 

Tommy pointed. "There, miss. The one with the fox scarf."

 

Hermione straightened her shirt, brushed stray crumbs off her jeans, and marched over to Mrs. Durbin's to see if she'd swap rooms. She could feel Eric watching her from the booth in the corner.

 

When she got back to him, he was smirking.

 

"How'd that go?" he asked.

 

She scowled. "Not well, as you've clearly deduced."

 

Eric smiled at her, slow and dangerous. "Allow me," he said. He unfolded himself from the booth and sauntered over to Mrs. Durbin's table. Hermione watched him.

 

He returned in fewer than three minutes. "Done," he said, sliding back into his seat. He gestured at Mrs. Durbin, who was collecting her fox-fur stole and her handbag. "She's on her way to pack up the room now. We'll be in it by eleven."

 

"We?" Hermione watched Mrs. Durbin pass, noting the blank, glassy-eyed expression on her face. "What do you mean, we?"

 

"Well, the other rooms are full. Obviously, I had to give her yours." He lifted an eyebrow. "You're a brain. What were you expecting would happen?"

 

"I'm not sleeping with you," Hermione said flatly.

 

"Don't flatter yourself," Eric said, looking away. "You sleep at night, I'll sleep during the day. Obviously."

 

"I guess we've got no problem, then."

 

"Guess not."

 

Why, she thought, were their voices suddenly raised and tight?

 

She took a deep breath. "I'm meeting with Severus tomorrow," she said. "About the potion."

 

"I'd like to come with you," Eric said.

 

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she said. "He's got a number of physical limitations, and daytime visits are usually difficult enough."

 

"Give him a nap." Eric's tone turned icy. "I want to be there."

 

"And I'm telling you no." Hermione put her hands on the table. "Listen, Eric, much as I appreciate your participation in this, I need to see him myself. Meaning _alone._ "

 

"Ah." Eric sat back, his expression suddenly relaxed. "I see. You slept with him."

 

Hermione blushed. "No I didn't."

 

He tilted his head down and looked at her from under his brow. "Hermione. I am a thousand years old. I have had a _lot_ of conversations. Consequently, I have a fair amount of insight into human behavior." He waved a dismissive hand. "You slept with him."

 

"Fine." Hermione gritted her teeth. "You win. But if we're going to talk about it, let's talk about it _upstairs._ Because I'm not discussing my sex life in a pub."

 

"And you just confirmed it." Eric slid out of the booth and held out his hand.

 

She took it and let him pull her to her feet. "You are really awful."

 

"I know," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

 

"What in the name of God are you doing?"

 

Eric looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor. "Taking out the floorboards. What does it look like?"

 

Hermione glared at him. "It looks like you're taking out the floorboards. When this room is being paid for with _my_ gold."

 

"And I'm paying you ten grand. I think it'll even out." He prised out a third floorboard and set it next to the other two. "By the time we leave, you won't even be able to tell." He tilted his head. "Wouldn't count on maid service, though."

 

"May I ask," Hermione said sharply, " _why_ , exactly, you are dismantling the rented room? Wait, let me restate that. The _room that does not belong to us._ That you are _steadily taking apart._ "

 

The fourth floorboard was out. "Because," he said, working his fingers under a fifth, "I can't exactly sleep in the bed. Not with windows right by my head and a door with locks from 1850."

 

Once the fifth floorboard was out, he lowered each one into the narrow space beneath the floor, lining them up perpendicular to the ceiling joists of the next level down. "So I'll sleep in the floor." He lowered himself carefully into the hole he'd made, then stuck one arm up. "Hand me that rug."

 

"This is, just so you know, supremely weird," Hermione said, but she dragged the rug over to him and used it to cover the two-foot-wide gap in the floorboards. It sagged a little.

 

"Perfect." His voice was muffled from under the rug.

 

Hermione pulled up a corner of the rug and looked at him. "You won't fall through, will you?"

 

He patted the floorboards beneath him. "Doubtful. If I do, I'll glamour whomever I smash."

 

"As I stated. Weird," she said. She dropped the corner of the rug and stood. A moment later, he climbed out of the floor. They looked at each other.

 

"Well," she said.

 

"Well," he said.

 

"We could go -- " she started to suggest, but he spoke at the same time, and he was louder.

 

"Didn't you have a story for me?" he said.

 

"Ah." She looked away.

 

He sat on the bed, reached over, took her wrist. "Don't back out now," he said, drawing her down beside him.

 

So she sighed, and leaned against the headboard, and told him about Severus.

 

She told him how Severus had been devastated after Nagini's bite, had almost died. He'd been in St. Mungo's for weeks, and when he'd been released, his left side had been weakened, his right completely functionless. He couldn't sit, eat, write. He wouldn't speak to anyone.

 

And Hermione started trying to find a way to make him better. At first it was because Harry had asked her to help him, and then it wasn't anymore.

 

She and Harry and Ron worked for months, poring over books in the Hogwarts library and skulking around Knockturn Alley in search of ingredients. She spent half her time studying for her Ministry apprentice examinations, the other half in the dungeons practically blowing herself up on a weekly basis. After Harry said "There's nothing else we can do," she asked him for a loan.

 

"Sure," he said. "What for?"

 

"Rent," she said.

 

She went to Muggle university and studied anatomy and physiology, neurology and neuroscience. She spent her weekdays fluorescing neurons at Oxford, her weekends in the sprawling laboratories at St. Mungo's. She tried potion after potion, experiment after experiment. And finally -- after sacrificing probably her five thousandth mouse, after discarding her five thousandth flagon of failure --

 

"I have something for you," she said to Severus.

 

He was in a Muggle wheelchair she'd brought him, propped up on the right side with pillows, looking out the window. He didn't give any indication that he'd heard.

 

She pulled the small amber bottle out of her purse and brought it over to him. Held it in front of his face, so he had no choice but to see it.

 

Finally he sighed. "What is it?" he said. His words had still been slurred then, difficult for most people to understand.

 

"It's..." She hesitated, unsure how to explain. "I think it might...help you."

 

His eyes flicked to her face, then back to the bottle. She saw his comprehension.

 

She also saw that he was _furious._

 

"Please don't be angry," she said, dropping into the chair beside him. "I've been working on it for months now. I think -- I've done a number of trials, animal models -- "

 

"Animal models?" The right side of his mouth dragged even more when he was upset. "How many times have I told you, Miss Granger, that animal models are insufficient when testing potions intended for humans?"

 

"I know, but -- "

 

"Absolutely not. No." He turned his eyes back to the window.

 

"Please, Professor," she'd said, "please, won't you just try?"

 

But he refused to talk to her, or even look at her, and finally she gave up and went home.

 

She came back the following weekend, and this time she brought her notes.

 

"Look," she said, and sat down with him, and began to explain.

 

She walked him through her thought process. Explained why she'd used each ingredient, the time increments for each step, the reason behind every stir of her wand. She brought diagrams and textbooks, explained what she'd learned in her neuroscience research. She stood at his old chalkboard and drew out, as he had so many times before, the rationale for her work. It took her twelve hours. He didn't say a word.

 

When she'd finished, at nearly six o'clock on Sunday evening, she stood before him breathless. Watching him.

 

"Say something," she pleaded.

 

He closed his eyes slowly, and kept them closed for a long time. When he opened them again, they were wet.

 

"You are," he said evenly, "a remarkable young woman, Ms. Granger."

 

At which she broke down utterly.

 

When she'd stopped crying, she sat beside him. He had her reconstruct her work once more, out loud. This time, though, he interrupted her every few minutes. He asked her questions she hadn't thought about, demanded reasoning she hadn't considered, proffered alternatives to things she'd thought singular. He hadn't lost a bit of his cognition, but his speech was slow. It took a long time.

 

At three in the morning, she put the little amber bottle on the windowsill. He smiled at her. She went home.

 

His fine motor skills were lost to Nagini's fangs, so she was his hands. They worked every weekend. Every two or three months, another bottle would join the growing collection on the windowsill.

 

The potions got better. So did Severus.

 

By the time she graduated -- _summa cum laude_ in microbiology, and her name attached to the end of a publication in _Cortex_ \-- he was sitting on his own. He shuffled in slow circles with her at her wedding to Ron. And when she received her PhD in neuroscience, he walked her to the stage.

 

Of course, his right hand still couldn't hold a wand or a quill, and he couldn't quite manage without a cane -- but, he said frequently, progress is progress. Odd words from the bitter man she'd met at eleven years old.

 

On her twenty-eighth birthday, Ron took both of her hands in his and said the words she'd been dreading.

 

"I'm so sorry," he'd said, and she was already crying because she knew what he would say next.

 

He was crying too, then. "I'm so sorry," he said again. "I think...Hermione, I think I might be..."

 

"I know," she said. "I know, Ron."

 

She'd found Draco's letters ten months earlier. She knew she had already lost him.

 

He was so broken. He offered to leave and she shook her head. "No," she said. "It's okay. You stay. I'll go."

 

She was on Severus's doorstep two hours later. He brought her inside and they drank prosecco and she cried on his couch, and somewhere in the middle of her rambling he told her he loved her. And maybe it was the wine; and maybe it was her broken heart; and maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she longed for Ron to look at her, with such wanting and need; but when he kissed her, snotty and wet-faced as she was, she kissed him back. She knew it was wrong, and not just because he was her friend, not just because he was nearly twenty years her senior. She knew it was wrong because he loved her.

 

When he came she thought _Oh God what have I done._

 

She tried to leave that night, but he put his arms around her and put his face in her hair and told her how much he wanted her, and it felt so good to be wanted.

 

Two weeks after Ron had broken her heart, she broke Severus's.

 

He didn't talk to her for more than a year. She quit her job as Head Alchemist at St. Mungo's and moved to France. She lived a double life, Muggle and witch, teaching and writing and making potions. She sat on the board of the Societe des Neurosciences, created a committee (really just herself and one other wizard who happened to be a neuroscientist as well) for potions specific to neurological damage. She wrote papers for Muggle journals and textbooks for wizarding academics. She moved so she wouldn't feel.

 

But that little amber bottle was on her lab bench wherever she went.

 

"When did you start talking to him again?" Eric asked.

 

"You mean," Hermione corrected, "when did _he_ start talking to _me._ "

 

"Whatever." Eric rolled his eyes.

 

"Three years ago," Hermione said. "Give or take."

 

"And your relationship is...what?"

 

She shrugged. "Friendly. I suppose."

 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "You still fuck him?"

 

"That's inappropriate," Hermione snapped. She rolled away from him and stood up. "Say that again and this whole deal is off."

 

"Sorry, sorry." Eric held his hands up. "Testy."

 

She trembled with anger. "You have no right to say that."

 

"I said I was sorry," Eric said. "Sit down."

 

"I'll stand if I damn well please," Hermione said.

 

"Suit yourself." He settled against the headboard. "So you don't love him."

 

She looked away. "I care about him," she said.

 

"Not sure that's an answer," he said.

 

"Not sure you'll get a better one."

 

"He's still in love with you." Eric's voice was quiet, dangerous.

 

"Maybe," Hermione said. She was suddenly exhausted. She'd never told the whole story, start to finish, and she was a little surprised that Eric had listened to it in its entirety. She sighed, sagged, sat down again.

 

"Is that why you're in Shreveport?" he persisted. "To stay away from him?"

 

"I don't know." Hermione leaned back on her hands and looked up at the rafters. There were cobwebs up there. "It's possible. I've learned a lot these past two years."

 

"I was right," Eric said. He shifted closer. "You're interesting."

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And you're an insensitive prat."

 

He nodded. "I'm aware," he said.

 

"And infuriating," she added.

 

"Also true," he said. "Or so I've been told. But incidentally -- " His eyes moved over her. "I do agree with your wizard."

 

"How so?"

 

"You are, in fact -- " lifting a finger to lightly brush her throat -- "extremely desirable."

 

She caught his finger in her fist. "You have some nerve."

 

"Thanks." He pulled his hand away.

 

"You don't get to touch me," Hermione said, turning away from him. "You don't get to talk about Severus, either."

 

He shrugged. "Makes no difference to me."

 

"Good," she said. "Then you won't mind leaving. Because I want to go to sleep."

 


	5. Chapter 5

_July 4_

 

She'd thought she wouldn't be able to wake up in the morning, but her eyes snapped open at five, as always. It was still dark outside. She peeked under the rug, into the hole in the floorboards: Eric wasn't back yet. She wondered briefly where he'd gone, then pushed the thought away, reminding herself that she didn't care.

 

She dressed quickly and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Then she headed to the train station.

 

The Hogwarts Express wasn't crowded. She found an empty car and curled into its worn, familiar bench. She slept most of the way.

 

She'd told the administration she was coming, of course, but she wasn't expecting to see Hagrid at the platform.

 

"Hagrid!" she exclaimed, and threw herself into his arms.

 

"Hi, Hermione," he said, patting her back. He drew back. "Now, let me get a look at ya. Right grown up, y'are."

 

"And you haven't changed a bit," Hermione said. It was true: other than the streaks of grey running through his tangled black hair and beard, Hagrid might have been the same man who had greeted her more than two decades before.

 

He walked her up to the castle, and she caught him up on her life in the four years since she'd seen him last.

 

"It's good of ya to visit him," Hagrid said, at the castle entrance. He looked somber, suddenly.

 

"Well." Hermione swallowed hard. "He was always a good friend."

 

Hagrid chuckled, and she relaxed. "Not always," he corrected.

 

She went up to Severus's quarters alone. She wasn't sure when he'd moved back to Hogwarts -- it had been sometime after she left for France -- and she wondered, now, how he managed if he wasn't taking the potion. Was it like it was after he'd returned from St. Mungo's? Did he have an aide? A Healer?

 

Her knock echoed loudly in the empty hall.

 

"Come in," she heard him say.

 

She opened the door.

 

He was in the old Muggle wheelchair, waiting for her. "Severus," she said.

 

"Hermione." Coolly.

 

She went to him, bent and kissed his cheek. He didn't move. "You've lost weight," she said.

 

He looked toward his desk. "The list is there," he said.

 

"Yes." She retrieved the parchment, assessing the cramped, painful scrawl. It must have taken him hours.

 

She put it next to her bag and went back to him, dragging a chair from his dining table so she could see him eye to eye.

 

"Harry tells me you aren't taking the potion," she said. She remembered what Harry had said about the bottles and glanced at his window. Sure enough. Five small glass vials, lined up on the sill.

 

"We can start immediately," he said, without looking at her. "You have the blood?"

 

"Severus." She took his hands. "Please."

 

"I don't know what you want," he said.

 

"I want you to be well." She felt tears burn her eyes and blinked hard.

 

He looked away, pulled his hands out of hers. "I am well enough."

 

"Can you walk?" she asked sharply. "Eat?"

 

"If you're going to persist in this line of questioning," he said, his voice taking on the old edge, "we'll have no more to discuss."

 

"I care about you," she said, and she saw his lips tighten.

 

"No more," he said.

 

At the end of the day, as she was assembling her belongings and preparing to go back to London on the evening train, she asked him: "Is this because of what happened? With us?"

 

He gave her his eyes, then. "You presume too much significance in my life, Ms. Granger," he said, and she heard wry sorrow in his words.

 

"You're still a young man," she said, pleading.

 

"Not so," he said. "Not any more."

 

She knelt in front of him. "Severus, please. Please take the potion. Please don't do this."

 

He looked away. Sighed.

 

"I'm tired," he said.

 

"You're giving up." She wrapped her hands around his clawed right fingers and brought them to her lips. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath.

 

"Am I?" he said. He reached out with his free hand and touched her face, as light as a whisper. Then he gently extracted his right hand from hers.

 

"Good night, Hermione," he said. 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

When she got back to the Leaky Cauldron, Eric was waiting for her.

 

"Do you have it?" he demanded.

 

"Easy," she said. "No. I told you, it will take time. We've only just started."

 

He scowled. "Why does it take so long?"

 

"For a man with a thousand years under his belt, you certainly are impatient." She put her bag down.

 

He sat on the bed, looked at her, his expression shifting. "How was the ex?"

 

She glared at him. "He isn't my ex."

 

"So...not well." He smirked.

 

She stopped moving. Looked at him.

 

"Eric," she said.

 

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

 

"I want your blood."

 

His lips curled. "You want my blood, huh." He stood up, came toward her, put a hand on her waist. "And why's that?"

 

"Ugh." She grabbed his hand and pushed him away. "Not like that, you Neanderthal."

 

"Viking," he corrected, looking resentful. "So why, then?"

 

She looked at him archly. "For Severus."

 

"You've got to be kidding me." He rolled his eyes.

 

"I am not at all kidding you." She fixed him with a hard stare. "You don't have to pay me for the potion. Just a trade. Your healing powers for mine."

 

"For God's sake." Suddenly his fangs were out. He sank them into his wrist and held it out to her. "Don't be so dramatic. Here."

 

"Good lord, Eric, it's getting all over the floor." Hermione scrambled for a vial. The wound healed before the vial was full, but she supposed it was enough.

 

"Thank you," she said.

 

His fangs, she saw, were still out.

 

"I hope you're not thinking of biting me," she said.

 

The fangs snapped back. "Of course not," he muttered.

 

Hermione studied him. Such an odd expression on his face: jaw tense, a flash of narrow blue eyes as he turned away from her. Certainly he couldn't be thinking of...certainly he didn't want to...

 

She shook herself. "I appreciate it," she said.

 

"Of course," he said flatly. He didn't turn around.

 

"I'll just..." She reached for her pajamas. "I'll change."

 

His shoulders tensed. "Do that."

 

When she emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he was slouched at the small desk, idly scrolling through the BBC news website.

 

"Aren't you going to -- " She gestured. "You left last night."

 

"I had a meeting," he said, without looking at her. "I don't tonight."

 

She shifted. "So you're just going to...sit there? While I sleep?"

 

His eyes slid to the left, tracking up her legs, over her body, settling at last on her face. "Looks that way."

 

"Um." Hermione glanced at the bed. "I suppose..." She paused. "Okay."

 

She kept her gaze on him as she pulled the blankets back and slid between them. When he didn't say anything, she rolled over, snuggled down into the bedding, and closed her eyes.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

"Hermione, wake up."

 

"Ugh." She rolled over. "What now?"

 

Eric was standing over her. "I need to leave."

 

She closed her eyes. "Fix the floor first."

 

"Already done." He sounded annoyed.

 

"Great." She pulled the blanket higher on her shoulder and turned away from him. "'Bye."

 

He nudged her shoulder. "Come with me."

 

"Oh my God, Eric, I am trying to sleep. Why?"

 

"I like you," he said.

 

"I thought you were in love with Sookie."

 

"I am." He prodded her again. "But I like you. You're interesting,"

 

"I have work to do." She pulled the blanket all the way over her head. "Here."

 

She heard his sigh of frustration, the creak of the door. When she poked her head out, he was gone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_July 5_

 

Someone was tapping at the window.

 

She opened her eyes. Rolled out of bed, jumped up, and pulled the curtains back. "Oh."

 

There was an owl outside, a roll of parchment tied to its leg. She opened the window and it hopped inside.

 

"Thanks," she said, when the owl stuck its leg out at her. She untied the parchment and saw the headmaster's letterhead, McGonagall's angular script.

 

_Hermione -_

_Severus informs me that you'll be working with him for the next several days. Please feel free to stay in the castle for as long as you'd like._

_MM_

 

She smiled. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured. She picked up a quill and wrote quickly on the back of the letter. _Yes, please, I'll be up shortly._

 

The owl waited patiently while she secured the parchment, then took off into the bright morning sunshine.

 

She carried the little vial of blood in her hand all the way to the train station. She held it up to the light that filtered through the dirty train window, and it was darker, somehow, than human blood. No matter how long she kept it in her hand, it stayed cold.

 

She wondered if it would work.

 

Severus wouldn't look at her, but he spoke as soon as she entered his room. "I've had Mr. Thomas set up cauldrons in the dungeon," he said.

 

"Wait," Hermione said, her fingers curled around the vial in her pocket. "Before we -- I have something for you."

 

He paused. "All right."

 

She took a deep breath and took the vial out of her pocket.

 

As soon as he saw it, he scowled and shook his head. "No. Absolutely not."

 

"Severus, it works." She dropped into the chair next to him, still holding the blood out, her other hand on the back of his chair.

 

His eyes were dark, angry. "You don't know that."

 

"It can't hurt," she said, pleading now.

 

"It's his blood." Not a question. "Your vampire."

 

"He isn't mine," Hermione said, but she knew it was hopeless. She put the vial on the end table and she was overwhelmed, suddenly, by everything around her: by Severus, by Eric, by the impossibility of the situation before her and the improbability of the one in the dungeon. She put her forehead on Severus's shoulder and closed her eyes.

 

She felt his sharp intake of breath, felt him flinch away from her. She lifted her head. "I'm sorry."

 

He looked away. "The dungeons," he said softly.

 

"Yes," she said, and let go of his chair.

 

Time passed.

 

There were tempering phases and fermentation phases, and then they had to wait for a full moon, and then there were curing and aging phases. Longer than she'd expected. She wrote to tell Angelique and her other collaborators in Shreveport that she was taking an extended leave. The days stretched into weeks.

 

For a month, when they worked, he said only what was necessary. Looked at her only when he had to. She didn't see him outside of the dungeons, much: she spent her evenings with Dean and Luna and Neville, her weekends with Harry and Ginny. She gave a few guest lectures in Potions and in Muggle Studies. She hadn't taught since she was a graduate student, and she had almost forgotten how much she liked it.

 

On the fourteenth of August, everything changed.

 

At the end of the day, she took him back to his room. He didn't speak as she pushed him down the hall, didn't speak when she opened the door and wheeled him inside. But as she turned to leave, he reached up and caught her wrist.

 

She stopped at once. He hadn't spoken more than two sentences to her at a time for the past month, and he certainly hadn't touched her. When she looked at him, he averted his gaze.

 

"You think I don't know what I've become," he said roughly. "Pitiable. Weak."

 

"You're not -- " she said, but he interrupted.

 

"You know it's true," he said, and she was stricken by how vulnerable he sounded.

 

"You were never weak," she whispered.

 

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Lily. You." He paused. "I'm tired of failures." And reached for the vial that still sat on his end table.

 

She held her breath, waiting, watching him. He turned the blood over and over in his hand.

 

"Do you think -- " He broke off. Took a long breath. Closed his eyes. "Do you think it will work?"

 

It was such an old injury, and a magical one. Even if the neurons healed, would the muscles remember?

 

"I don't know," she said.

 

His eyes, clear grey in sunlight, appeared black, now, in the dimness. 

 

"Do you want me to try?" he asked.

 

She swallowed hard, forced herself to hold his gaze. "I wouldn't have brought it if I didn't," she said firmly.

 

He held the vial out to her. He held the glass and she twisted the cap and then it was open, a half-ounce of cold crimson hope.

 

He smiled at her grimly with the left side of his mouth. "Bottoms up," he said, and tipped the vial against his lips.

 

It was immediate.

 

He grimaced, gasped, hunched over with both hands curled to his chest. She was on her feet at once. "Severus!"

 

Strangled moan, crescendoing into a cry. He doubled over, twisting in the chair, and she barely caught him before his head hit the floor. He stared up at her, eyes bulging, lips drawn back in agony, his skin whiter than she'd ever seen it.

 

"No -- " She fumbled for her wand. What spell, now? What could she do?

 

 _Bezoar._ She leapt for his alchemist's cabinet. Pulled open drawer after drawer, hearing them clatter against the stone, their contents scattering. "Please," she muttered. _"Please._ "

 

And then, from behind her: "Hermione."

 

She whirled, dropping her wand and the drawer she was holding, and her knees howled in protest as she scuttled on all fours toward him. He was still now, curled on his left side, and she saw --

 

"You're -- " she murmured, and her hands were on him. On his right arm, no longer ropy and atrophied, no longer contracted. "Oh, Severus, you're -- "

 

He stretched his arm out straight. Stared at it. Stared at her.

 

And then he rolled onto his hands and knees and stood up.

 

She couldn't move, even when he stumbled and keeled to the right and caught himself. She could only kneel on the cold floor and gaze at him. The look on his face: his eyes wide, wondering; his mouth slightly open -- he looked so _light_. He took a step. Another. Turned and looked at her.

 

The next thing she knew, she was in his arms.

 

He didn't say anything as she sobbed and gasped. Didn't do anything but hold her. With both hands.

 

When she'd regained control of herself, she pulled back. Put her palms flat on his cheeks, her thumbs smudging away his tears.

 

"I haven't looked at you from this angle in...some time," he said unsteadily.

 

In her peripheral vision, she saw him flex his fingers. She let her hands fall from his face as he reached up. She closed her eyes, and a moment later felt him brush his fingertips against her forehead, her cheek, her lips.

 

"Should have done this earlier, then, I suppose," he said, and laughed softly.

 

She looked up at him and saw how his smile lifted both sides of his mouth, now. The symmetry of his shoulders and hips. That he was standing, straight-backed and steady. _Severus._

 

She could have stopped him, when he put his hand on her neck. She could have stopped him when he bent and brought his lips to hers.

 

She could have, but she didn't.

 

She knew, of course, that vampire blood, even when used for its healing properties, had side effects. Knew that it heightened the senses and wreaked havoc on the libido. Of course -- _of course_ \-- he would kiss her.

 

What surprised her was that she kissed him back.

 

She could taste copper on his lips, and he was so warm, so sweetly familiar. She remembered, suddenly, his fingers fumbling with the button of her jeans. His mouth on her skin. The way he felt inside her.

 

She put her hands on his chest, gently pushed him away. "Stop," she breathed.

 

Horror and mortification on his face. "I'm so sorry."

 

"No," she said, dropping her hands. "It's the blood."

 

He nodded, looked away. "Still."

 

"Don't, Severus." She stepped back. "You're too hard on yourself."

 

He passed a hand over his lips. "I've been...unkind...to you," he said quietly.

 

"You haven't been anything of the sort," she said. Too brisk. Too cool.

 

He turned his back on her, and she trembled. She'd forgotten how tall he was.

 

"Sev -- " She broke off. "Just -- " She put her hand on his back, and he tensed.

 

"What?" he said. "Just what?"

 

"I can't do this to you again," she said.

 

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Do what?"

 

"You know what."

 

Suddenly he was facing her, his fingers curling into her waist. "Then do it _for_ me," he said roughly, and kissed her again.

 

Despite herself, she found herself reaching for him. Threading her fingers through his hair. Opening her mouth when his tongue brushed her lips. It was strange, kissing him: foreign and familiar at the same time. She hadn't seen him this assertive -- this impassioned -- since that night almost five years ago. She shouldn't like it; she shouldn't want him.

 

"You are so beautiful." His lips moved against her neck; she moaned and arched against him.

 

"This is really a bad idea," she managed to say, but even as the words left her lips, she was releasing the clasp of his robes. They slid over his shoulders and dropped heavily to the floor.

 

He pushed her shirt up, his fingertips brushing her skin. "I'd like to prove you wrong," he said.

 

She bit her lip.

 

"Not here," she said.

 

It was so much like it had been that night, and so different. He undressed her gently, carefully, his lips following his hands as he dropped first one garment and then another onto the floor.

 

"Are you all right?" he asked, when they were side by side under the blankets. His thumb stroked her bare hip.

 

She scooted toward him, the length of her body flush with his, feeling his erection impossibly hot against her stomach. "Better," she said.

 

He sighed softly. When he opened his mouth to say something else, she interrupted.

 

"Let's not talk," she said, reaching down, hearing him hiss when she wrapped her fingers around him, "any more." She hooked her leg over his, rolled on top of him, positioned him against her.

 

He swallowed hard, nodded. Closed his eyes, his expression almost pain, as she rocked forward and took him in. He came long before she was anywhere near orgasm, but somehow that made it all the sweeter.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

It was strange, after that.

 

They finished the potion four days later. Severus chopped and sliced and stirred cauldrons, and he was nimbler, quicker than Hermione had ever seen him. He was careful with her. Gentle.

 

"You're smiling," she said, as she capped the last aliquot.

 

"Sorry." He brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. She flinched away.

 

"You know I can't -- " She felt her face heat up. "Sev..."

 

He grew still, the smile vanishing. "I wasn't expecting anything," he said evenly.

 

She felt tears pricking her eyes. Guilt and shame. "I'm sorry," she said.

 

"One day," he said, "you'll stop being sorry for things that aren't your fault."

 

"How is it not my fault?" she snapped, turning on him. "I shouldn't have -- you thought -- "

 

"You don't know what I thought," Severus snapped back, "because I didn't tell you."

 

"But it wasn't right for me to -- "

 

"Will you kindly _stop_ assigning no responsibility to anyone but yourself," Severus interrupted sharply. "You seem to have forgotten that I graduated from Hogwarts before you were even born. _Ms. Granger._ " The name a barb aimed at her heart.

 

She looked down. "I'm -- "

 

He cut her off again. "If you say you're sorry, I will hex you."

 

"You're right," she said. She brushed at her eyes. She had made a choice, yes, but so had he.

 

"Thank you," he said. Then he reached over and covered her hand firmly with his. "And thank you for..." He flexed his fingers, tightened them again. "The blood."

 

"It's nothing," she replied uncomfortably. "You'd've done the same."

 

"Yes." He let go of her hand.

 

She shifted out of his reach. "You'll tell me if you need more."

 

He made a funny little throat-clearing sound. "Of course." And then: "Are you going back? For good?"

 

She placed the last bottle next to the others. "I have my work," she said lamely. "Three papers in progress. I haven't finished."

 

"And him?"

 

"Who?" she asked, knowing exactly whom he meant.

 

"Your vampire."

 

"Oh, for the last time, Severus, he's not _mine_ ," she said. "And yes. He's there."

 

He nodded. And didn't ask again.

 

The next day, when she went to his room to say goodbye, she found it locked. On his doorstep were five small bottles -- the last of the potion she'd begun for him, all those years ago. There was no note, but she understood.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_November 3_

 

Hermione never saw it coming.

 

One moment, she was rummaging for her keys in her bag; the next, she was on the ground. Blinding pain in her head. Blood spattered on the pavement.

 

She didn't even have a chance to reach for her wand. Something struck her again, and everything went black.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Something on her lips: cold, wet, metallic.

 

She coughed, gagged. Nearly vomited. Until she realized that as whatever-it-was filled her mouth, the throbbing in her head started to fade.

 

She swallowed. Suddenly the liquid tasted good. Not just good -- _amazing._ She wanted more.

 

"Easy," said a voice.

 

She opened her eyes.

 

"Eric," she said.

 

"At your service." He pulled his wrist away from her lips. "How are you feeling?"

 

She sat up, shaking, thrumming. She'd never felt so alive.

 

"What did you do to me?" she whispered.

 

"Don't thank me or anything," he said, sitting back. "I only saved your life."

 

She licked her lips. "Was that your _blood_?"

 

"It was." He looked up.

 

She followed his gaze. "Oh my God."

 

She was in a bar she didn't recognize, and it looked like a horror movie set. The Tru Blood sign on the wall was splattered with blood. Strands of something red and horrible were dangling from the hanging lights above the pool tables. "What happened?" she breathed.

 

"Some associates of Russell Edgington," Eric said.

 

"Who -- " She sat up. Her shirt was wet. "Is this them," she asked, examining the enormous bloodstains on her clothes, "or me?"

 

"Both, I think," Eric said.

 

"Who's Russell Edgington?" She felt her head. No pain. No cuts.

 

"A very, very bad guy." Eric stood, went behind the bar, and came back with a T-shirt. "Here."

 

She unfolded it. "Fangtasia?"

 

"We're at my bar," he explained.

 

"Where's my wand?"

 

He reached into his back pocket and handed it to her. She examined it: a little dinged, but nothing serious.

 

"What -- " She shook her head hard. "I'm sorry. I'm still a little confused. Why, exactly, am I in your bar covered with blood?"

 

"You were attacked." Eric reached down, took her hands in his. He pulled her to her feet. "I don't know how they knew you were bringing me the potion today. They wanted it. As leverage."

 

"Turn around," Hermione said.

 

Eric did, and she stripped the bloody shirt and bra off and quickly pulled the T-shirt over her head. He turned back as she was tugging it into place.

 

"So you healed me," she said.

 

"I did."

 

"With your blood."

 

"Yes."

 

She narrowed her eyes. "So now you'll know what I'm thinking."

 

"Not thinking," he corrected. He looked amused. "Feeling, maybe."

 

"Take me home," she said. She was suddenly annoyed. She knew the likely consequences of having drunk his blood. Heightened senses, hallucinations, and... "If I start having sex dreams about you, I am _not_ going to be happy."

 

"Are you ever happy?" Eric pulled car keys out of his jacket pocket.

 

"You are really a troll," Hermione replied.

 

At the highway, Eric turned north instead of south.

 

"Wrong exit," Hermione said.

 

"I'm not taking you home." Eric kept his eyes on the road.

 

"Uh huh," Hermione said. "And to where, exactly, are you kidnapping me?"

 

"I'm not kidnapping you," Eric said coolly. "In case you didn't realize it, which I imagine you didn't because you were almost dead, there are at least two vampires who know who you are and what you're able to do. I sent Pam over to your apartment to pack it up and cancel your lease. You're going into hiding."

 

"Oh like hell I am." Hermione jabbed Eric in the arm. When he didn't respond, she did it again.

 

In a split second, his fingers were wrapped around her wrist.

 

"Don't distract the driver," he said sharply.

 

It was a little odd, she thought, that she wasn't absolutely furious. Either the attack had left her too drained to be upset, or Eric's blood was already taking effect. 

 

She didn't want to think about that.

 

She turned, looked out the window. "Where are we going, then?"

 

"I have a couple of properties outside Shreveport," Eric said. "You'll stay in one of them."

 

"And my job? My research?" Hermione said sharply. "I took a leave of absence for you already. I can't exactly leave indefinitely."

 

"It isn't indefinite," Eric said. "It's just until I can make sure you'll be safe."

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You know I'm a witch, don't you? I can protect myself."

 

He didn't answer for a moment. Then: "I already lost Sookie. I don't need to lose you too."

 

"Oh, for God's sake. Don't be so dramatic." She remembered, as she said the words, that he had told her the same thing months ago. When she'd taken his blood to give to Severus.

 

He didn't reply.

 

The property turned out to be a three-storied plantation house ten miles outside the Shreveport city limits. It had peeling paint and broken shutters and the porch sagged, but inside it was surprisingly nice.

 

"It smells in here," Hermione said, looking at the polished hardwood floors, the low couch, the expensive-looking leather armchairs.

 

"It's the blood." Eric circled the room in a microsecond; the curtains fluttered closed. Hermione was used to his hyperspeed movement by now, but she still frowned at him.

 

"Quit," she said. She wrinkled her nose against the barrage of odors. "Ugh. Eric. How long is this going to last?"

 

"Depends on the person."

 

"Eric."

 

He stopped. "What?"

 

Hermione stood very still. Because she was buzzing, suddenly, with his nearness. And she knew it was the blood, she knew it wasn't real, but she couldn't stop herself.

 

"Come here," she said, and oh, now she knew how Severus had felt. 

 

In an instant he was before her, looking down at her with his blue, blue eyes.

 

"You wanted me?" he said, and his voice was so low, rough, rumbling through her.

 

Her lips were six inches from his. Then four. Then two.

 

Oh, she did. She wanted him like she'd never wanted anyone in her life.

 

She took a deep, unsteady breath. She put her hands on his chest and closed her eyes.  "I can't."

 

"Sure you can," he said, and his lips brushed hers when he said the words.

 

She felt her breathing pick up, felt her heart start to race. "No," she murmured, and kissed him.

 

He let out a low groan against her mouth. Hands on her waist, her ribs, her throat.

 

She shuddered, drew back. "Don't bite me."

 

"No." He dragged his tongue over her collarbone.

 

"Wait. Wait." She turned her back on him, put her hands over her face. "I can't -- this is very confusing."

 

He slid his hands from her shoulders to her elbows, dropped them to her hips. She felt his lips against her neck.

 

She put her head back, arched, moaned.

 

"Still confused?" Palm pressing against her stomach, making her gasp.

 

She wrapped her hand around his fingers and peeled them away. Breathing hard, she walked to the kitchen and put both hands on the counter.

 

"It's nothing but the effect of your blood," she said.

 

"Sure." He chuckled.

 

"Biological," she added. "Or magical."

 

"It would've happened anyway," he said. He was on the other side of the counter, leaning forward on his elbows, his blue eyes piercing hers.

 

"You don't know that," she said sharply.

 

"The blood's just a catalyst," he said, and the smirk on his face was absolutely _infuriating_. Mostly because it made her want him even more.

 

"Eric, I think you should probably go," she managed to say.

 

"You can't kick me out of my own house." He put his hands over hers.

 

"I wasn't kicking you out." She pulled her hands back because she didn't trust herself to touch him. "I just..." She took a deep breath.

 

"Just what?" He angled his head to meet her eyes.

 

"It's complicated," she said.

 

His lips curled in a carnal smile. "The wizard," he said.

 

"No, not _the wizard,_ " Hermione said crossly. "But I suspect, Eric, that sleeping with you is not going to be mutually beneficial."

 

The smile turned into a grin. "I think you'd be surprised," he said, and there was a blur and a rush of wind, and she was alone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Pam showed up on the third day she was there.

 

"Hi," she purred, dropping into one of the armchairs.

 

Hermione clutched her chest. "Good God, Pam," she said, "you scared the life out of me. Don't you knock?"

 

"That's a four-thousand-dollar coffee table," Pam said in a bored voice, jerking her chin at the nail polish Hermione had spilled when she shrieked and jumped.

 

"You pay for it," Hermione snapped, picking up the bottle and recapping it. "You're the one who broke in."

 

"Not your house," Pam said archly. "Eric sent me. To check on you."

 

"I'm fine." Hermione aimed her wand at the spill on the coffee table. " _Scourgify._ "

 

"Neat trick," Pam said, watching the nail polish vanish.

 

Hermione scowled. "You've checked on me."

 

"Right." Pam looked around. "You're great. So." She smirked at Hermione. "'Bye."

 

"Wait. Pam." Hermione stood up.

 

An irritated sigh. "Yeah."

 

"Is -- " She paused. "Is Eric coming by?"

 

"Oh, for God's sake." Pam rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Maybe." She opened the door. "See you."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

By the third week, she was itchy and irritable with impatience. She'd done what Eric asked -- laid low, worked on writing, communicated with her colleagues and Severus by owl only -- but it was driving her crazy, having to wait for his signal to come out of hiding.

 

He picked up on the third ring. "Northman."

 

"Eric, I am climbing the walls here."

 

"Hermione." His voice a low rumble. "Nice to hear from you."

 

"Wish I could say the same for you," she said.

 

He chuckled. "I'm hurt."

 

"The hell you are."

 

"You sound upset." Dry amusement in his tone.

 

"I _am_ upset," she replied. "You're basically holding me hostage."

 

"I'm saving your life."

 

"Three weeks ago you were saving my life. Now you're just -- " She broke off.

 

"Do you require my presence?" he asked, when she didn't continue.

 

"No," she snapped. "I do not require your presence. What I _require_ is for you to fix whatever it is you need to fix to get me back to a normal life. I cannot continue like this."

 

A bored-sounding sigh. "Very well," he said. "Let me...see to a few more things...and I'll get back with you."

 

"Hurry up," she snapped, and disconnected the call.

 

He did. Two days later he declared her safe to come out of hiding; an hour after that, he was standing on her porch, lazy smile on his lips, telling her she could stay.

 

"Stay?" She scowled at him. "What do you mean, stay?"

 

"I mean," Eric said, "you can stay here. If you want. It's on me."

 

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to show up uninvited?"

 

"Probably."

 

"Are you going to -- " She paused. "Expect payment in some other form?"

 

A low chuckle. "Not unless you want to. But I wouldn't say no."

 

She considered. It was a nice house, to be sure, even though it was enormous. And she could overlook the creepy vampire-vault in the basement.

 

She gazed at him levelly. "All right," she said, after a moment. "I'll stay."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Months passed. Eric came by frequently at first. Flirted with her. Propositioned her. She turned him down each time, reminding him of Severus, reminding him of Sookie.

 

He came less and less often. And then, one day in the spring, she got a text from him: _Sookie is back._

 

She thought, then, that she was done with vampires and fairies and all their associated drama.

 

So it came as a bit of a shock when Sookie called to ask for her help.

 

  _to be continued_


	7. Chapter 7

_April 1_

 

Hermione didn't recognize the phone number, and when she answered it, she was half expecting someone trying to reach the law firm whose number was only one digit away from her own.

 

"Hello?" she said.

 

"Hermione?"

 

Startled, Hermione put down her spellbook. "Yes?"

 

"It's Sookie." Sookie's voice was high and tight.

 

"Oh." Hermione smiled. "Hi. How are you?"

 

"Not great," Sookie said. "What're you doing right now?"

 

"Um." Hermione glanced at the array of books and bottles on the table. "Not much. Why?"

 

"I, um...need some help."

 

"Help?" Hermione sat up. "Are you all right?"

 

There was a pause. Then: "Can I come over?"

 

"Sure."

 

Sookie's knock came not a half hour later.

 

"Hi," Hermione said, when she opened the door. She took Sookie's arm and pulled her through the door before the moths swirling around the porch light got inside.

 

"Hi." Sookie shut the door and pressed her back against it. Her gaze was darting here, there, everywhere. She was still in her work uniform, that little white Merlotte's T-shirt on which Hermione had placed an anti-stain enchantment. She looked flustered and breathless.

 

"Please, please, _please_ do not tell me you're being stalked by a boggart or have run afoul of a Runespoor or anything like that," Hermione said, because if it was one thing that she'd figured out about Sookie, it was that when one was a sweet-faced blond fairy waitress, one simply _invited_ disaster.

 

"What?" Sookie focused on Hermione. "No. No, of course not, what's a boggart?" She paused. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

 

"Sit down. Please." Hermione took Sookie's elbow and guided her to the couch.

 

Sookie sat, chewing her lip, and for a long moment she just looked at Hermione.

 

"Um." Hermione took a step back. "Let me just...put the kettle on."

 

Sookie flapped her hands. "Wait, wait, wait. Just let me explain."

 

"Okay," Hermione said slowly. She came back to the couch and sat down next to Sookie. "Explain."

 

Sookie took a deep breath.

 

"I..." she started to say, and stopped.

 

Hermione waited. When the pause became awkward, she said, "Are you sure you wouldn't like that tea?"

 

Sookie shook her head hard, then looked imploringly at Hermione. Her brown eyes were wide and hopeful. She took Hermione's hands in both of hers.

 

"I need you," she said, "to take care of Eric."

 

"Eric?" Hermione's chest tightened. "Eric Northman?"

 

"What other Eric is capable of causing problems like this?" Sookie asked, sounding as though she was asking herself.

 

"I haven't seen Eric for months," Hermione said. She felt an odd, tugging sensation in the vicinity of her heart.

 

Sookie sighed and twisted her hands together. "I know," she said. "But something's happened to him. Something bad."

 

The tugging sensation got stronger. "Like what?" Hermione said. "He's a vampire, isn't he? What could possibly be all that bad?"

 

"I don't know," Sookie said. "He's -- It's like he's forgotten everything he was. Everything he's done. He has no idea who he is." She paused. "And Pam...thinks that Bill was behind it."

 

Hermione snorted. "Right."

 

"I'm serious." Sookie got up and went to the door. She pulled it open and beckoned.

 

In an instant, Eric was in the living room. He was wearing a hoodie with the sleeves cut off, a pair of basketball shorts, sneakers that looked too small. His hair was tousled and hung in his face. He looked...extremely odd.

 

"Hello," he said curiously, looking at Hermione. "Who are you?"

 

Hermione studied him. "Well,” she said, “there's definitely something different about you.” She went to him and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

 

He watched her. "Do I know you?" he asked.

 

Hermione looked at Sookie, who shrugged. "Told you," she said.

 

"Why can't he stay with you?" Hermione pushed Eric away; he had caught her hand and was examining it carefully, his lips parted.

 

Sookie frowned. "It's a little complicated," she said. "If Bill really is behind it -- and I'm not saying he is or isn't -- 

 

"Ah." Hermione gently extracted Eric's hand from her hair. "Stop, please."

 

"You smell good," he observed.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thanks." She turned back to Sookie. "What, exactly, does Pam think Bill did?"

 

Sookie took a deep breath. "She thinks...she thinks Bill sent Eric into a coven."

 

Hermione laughed.

 

"Why are you _laughing?_ " Sookie demanded. "This is serious."

 

"Not if it's a coven, it's not," Hermione said. "Covens are -- well. I'll explain later. But that's not what did it."

 

"Well. Okay. Not a coven, then, fine. I never believe Pam anyway. But." Sookie grasped Hermione’s arm. "Can he stay here?"

 

Hermione regarded Eric's guileless, eager expression and sighed.

 

"I suppose," she said. "I'll work on trying to figure out what happened to him."

 

"Oh, thank you." Sookie seemed to deflate with relief. "Thank you. He has the hatch, right? Still? The cubby thing?"

 

Hermione glanced at the cabinet in the corner. She'd opened it and crawled down the ladder once before. It was a little creepy down there, despite the comfortable bed and modern decor, but it was a good place for a vampire to sleep during the day, she supposed.

 

"Yeah," she said.

 

"No one can know he's here,” Sookie said insistently. "Not yet. Not until I figure out what's going on."

 

Hermione sighed. "You're the boss."

 

"Eric," Sookie said. She turned to him and put her hands on either side of his face. "Be good, okay?"

 

He smiled at her. "Okay."

 

Once Sookie was gone, Hermione turned to Eric. "So," she said. "You've been Obliviated."

 

"I've been..." He frowned. "What?"

 

"Or something like that." Hermione took his arm and steered him toward the couch. "What's the last thing you remember?"

 

He sat down, keeping his eyes on her. "You are very pretty," he said.

 

"Focus, please, Eric." She sat next to him.

 

He shook his head, looking for a moment like a puppy with water in its ears. "I don't remember anything," he said after a moment. "Nothing."

 

"You know what you are." She studied his face.

 

He nodded. "Of course."

 

"And you know how to feed yourself. Where to sleep."

 

"Yes."

 

She hesitated. "Do you remember how to glamour people?" she asked finally.

 

He nodded. "But I don't know how I know."

 

"Fair enough." She leaned back, regarding him. He looked a little bewildered, a little uncertain, but he had smiled at her twice already, and that was...new. She'd never seen him smile like that before.

 

She liked it.

 

Oh, how she wished she hadn't drunk his blood.

 

"I feel..." He furrowed his brow, leaned toward her. "I feel close to you."

 

"I drank your blood," she said. "And you...drank mine. A long time ago."

 

His leg was pressed against hers now, his arm across the back of the couch near her shoulders. He was staring at her.

 

"That's why I am attracted to you," he said.

 

She felt a sudden flush of warmth in her chest, her stomach, between her legs. "Yes."

 

He tilted his head. "Are you attracted to me?" he asked.

 

She took a deep breath.

 

"Yes," she confessed.

 

He kissed her.

 

She pulled back at once. "Eric!" she said sharply.

 

"What?" His eyes were round. "I thought you wanted to."

 

"You thought wrong," she huffed. "Not now. Not ever. You're -- "

 

She stopped.

 

"I'm what?" he said, and he looked so confused and hurt that she shook her head.

 

"Nothing," she said.

 

His expression turned sad, then. "I would like to know what I am," he said.

 

Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. "I know you would," she said. "Listen. It's late and I need to go to sleep. Can I show you where to go when it starts to get light?"

 

He nodded, as quiet and docile as a lamb. "Okay."

 

She climbed down the ladder first, feeling amusement at his trepidation when he started to descend. He looked at the little room, with its double bed and fluorescent lights.

 

"Oh," he said. "This looks like my room."

 

He patted the bed, turned on the TV in the corner, examined the few old Norse texts on the small bookshelf. Then he turned back to Hermione. "You did this for me?"

 

She shook her head. "I think you did this for you, Eric," she said.

 

He nodded. "I did a nice job."

 

They climbed out of the hatch and stood together in the living room. "Well," she said.

 

He gave her his word that he wouldn't go exploring, wouldn't even go outside. He seemed interested in the television, anyway -- he had, he explained, a lot of catching up to do, now that he couldn't remember anything.

 

"Good night kiss?" he asked.

 

She paused, one hand on the railing, and glanced down the stairs at him: impish smile, blue eyes sparkling. He hardly looked like the Eric she knew.

 

She smiled back. "In your dreams," she said, and ascended the final three steps.

 

"Yes," she heard him say, from behind her.

 

"See you tomorrow night," she called.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

The next day, sitting in the bright kitchen, she started making phone calls.

 

"This is Herveaux," said the brisk voice on the other end of the line.

 

"Angelique, it's Hermione."

 

"Hermione!" The edge in Angelique's voice melted. "How are you? Are you in Mississippi?"

 

"Sadly, no." Hermione toyed with her quill. "I do have a favor to ask, though."

 

"Shoot."

 

"I have a vampire up here whose memory has been modified," Hermione said. "And -- "

 

" _What?_ " Angelique's voice sharpened. "What do you mean, modified?"

 

Hermione frowned. "I mean he can't remember who he is or anything about his life," she said. "Like I said. Modified."

 

"Shit." Hermione could hear things clattering in the background. "Are you at home?"

 

"Yes. What's wrong?"

 

_Crack._

 

"Whew!" Angelique shook herself. The beads around her neck rattled.

 

"Oh my God, you scared me," Hermione said. She got up from the table and folded Angelique into a hug. "You're lucky I'm decent."

 

"Or unlucky." Angelique pulled back and smiled at her. "You look great."

 

Hermione snorted and plucked at her ratty bathrobe. "Right. Thanks. Next time, warn me before you Apparate so I can at least get dressed. You look great too."

 

She did. Angelique managed to make voodoo queen into haute couture, with her neatly tailored robes and coordinating Christian Louboutins. Hermione couldn't remember ever having seen her without perfectly applied makeup. "Thanks," she said.

 

"What's the emergency?" Hermione said. She pulled a chair out and gestured for Angelique to sit down.

 

Angelique sat, placing her Kate Spade bag on the table. "Necromancy is the emergency," she said.

 

Hermione froze. "That's not possible."

 

"Oh, it's possible." Angelique pulled an iPad out of her purse, turned it on, slid it toward Hermione. "It's the only way spells work on vampires."

 

"You have references in PDF format?" Hermione flipped through a few pages of _A History of Magic_. "I'm impressed."

 

"An entire library," Angelique said. "It's way easier." She reached for the iPad and found the book she wanted: _A Primer of Darkness_. "Look."

 

Hermione skimmed. "Necromancy. First documented by the Greeks...pictographic records in South America..." She paused. "The Inquisition. All this was related to vampires?"

 

"Not all," Angelique corrected. "In Africa, it was zombies. Haiti too, later."

 

"Ugh." Hermione shuddered.

 

"It hasn't been seen for over two hundred years," Angelique said. "And if this vampire really has been Modified or Obliviated..." She paused. "We're dealing with some seriously dark shit."

 

Hermione's phone buzzed.

 

"Sorry," she said. "It might be Harry calling back. Let me just -- " She picked up the phone. "Oh -- hold on -- Sookie, hi."

 

"I talked to Pam." Sookie sounded panicky. "Eric -- Pam confirmed it. Bill sent him into a Wiccan coven in Shreveport."

 

"I told you, it can't have been a coven," Hermione said.

 

Angelique raised an eyebrow.

 

"But Wiccans -- "

 

 "-- did not do this to Eric," Hermione said. "Covens started off as Squib support groups and they're not much more now. Nothing magical about them."

 

"Pam says that's the only new place he's been," Sookie replied, her voice pleading. "Please. Someone did this to him."

 

Angelique was mouthing the words _real witch_ over and over, her face six inches from Hermione's, an expression on her face that all but screamed _DUH._

 

"Yes, okay," Hermione said irritably. "That's the most likely story, then."

 

"What is? What is?" Sookie said.

 

"That a real witch infiltrated the coven," Hermione explained. "We're going to have to do some digging."

 

"Okay." Sookie sounded near tears.

 

"Don't worry," Hermione said. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out." She hung up.

 

"There's no way a Wiccan did this," Angelique said, as soon as Hermione set the phone down.

 

"I know." Hermione chewed her lower lip. "I suppose...maybe I can go check it out."

 

Angelique shook her head, her green eyes narrow. "Going alone is a bad idea. If a wizard or witch really did join them and is playing with necromancy, you're going to need backup." She grinned. "Or should I say: _we're_ going to need backup."

 

"What's this _we?_ " Hermione said, arching an eyebrow at Angelique. "You don't have to get involved."

 

"Oh, you know how I love an adventure," Angelique said. She grinned. "Besides, do you _really_ think the Bureau is going to let you pull some kind of vigilante magical sheriff stunt?"

 

"Granted." Hermione patted the table and stood up. "First order of business, then: figure out what spell Eric is under." 

 

"That's your job," Angelique said. "Meanwhile, I'll figure out how powerful a wizard we're dealing with, here." She frowned. "Even Voldemort wasn't into necromancy."

 

"Well." Hermione shrugged. "He had enough living followers. I suppose."

 

Angelique reached for her purse. "Meet up Wednesday? We can maybe -- _maybe_ \-- do a recon run down to this coven."

 

"Sounds good. I'll be in touch."

 

"'Bye, darlin'," Angelique said, and there was another loud _crack_ , and she was gone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

When Eric opened his cabinet doors and saw her, he smiled broadly.

 

"Hi," he said.

 

He was rumpleheaded and shirtless, still in the basketball shorts, and barefoot. She let herself look at him for a little longer than was perhaps entirely necessary. "Hi," she said.

 

He came to the couch and sat down next to her. "I missed you," he said, so earnestly it made her uncomfortable.

 

She looked away. "You were only asleep for twelve hours."

 

"Still." He put his hand on the back of her neck and it made her shiver, his long fingers cool and light against her skin.

 

She shifted out of his reach. "I need to do a little..." She paused. "Magical interrogation."

 

"You can interrogate me as much as you want." He waggled his eyebrows.

 

She stared at him. "Eric. Was that a joke?"

 

"Kind of," he said.

 

She shook her head, smiled, patted his knee. "You're a lot less...cold...than you used to be," she said.

 

"I assume you mean that in the metaphorical sense, not literally," he said, pressing his palm to her upper arm.

 

She covered her hand with his and gently pulled it away from her arm. "You are correct."

 

He tilted his head and twined his fingers with hers. "You like me?" he asked.

 

"Let's not go that far." She extracted her hand, stood, and moved in front of him, wand out. "Ready?"

 

His blue eyes were so wide, so trusting. "Yes."

 

May as well start with the basics, then. " _Finite incantatem,"_ she said, flicking her wand.

 

There was a flash of light, and she was thrown backwards. She hit the floor hard. Heard herself let out a yelp at the sudden pain in her sacrum.

 

Eric was at her side at once, scooping her into his arms. Before she knew it, she was on the couch in his lap.

 

"Are you okay?" He looked worried.

 

She struggled out of his arms and stood, wincing. "I'm all right," she said.

 

"It didn't work," he said sadly.

 

She retrieved her wand. "No," she said.

 

"You're hurt." He stood up too, touched her hip.

 

"One more try," she said. "Something smaller, this time."

 

He furrowed his brow. "Be careful."

 

" _Obscuro,_ " she said, and once more found herself on the floor.

 

"Let's not do this any more." Frowning, Eric helped her to her feet again, putting his arm around her shoulders and sitting her back on the couch.

 

So no spells worked on vampires. Not unless necromancy was involved. Which meant...God, she hoped that didn't mean she had to perform any dark magic.

 

"We're going to need to be a little more creative," she replied.

 

He pulled her closer. "Now?"

 

She glanced at the clock: eight-thirty. Not too late to call Angelique.

 

"No," she said at last. "Not tonight."

 

"You're warm," he said.

 

"Human," she reminded him.

 

He looked sidelong at her. "Are you sure I can't kiss you?"

 

"Yes," she said, laughing. "I'm sure."

 

He frowned. "Why not?"

 

"It'd be taking advantage of the situation," she said. "You're enchanted. You don't know what you're saying."

 

Blur of motion, and he was standing in front of her, fangs out, eyes ablaze. "I know what I'm saying," he snapped.

 

She pushed back, eyes wide, suddenly afraid. "I'm sorry," she said. "Eric...put your fangs away. Please."

 

He stared at her a moment longer, then his fangs snapped back.

 

She stood up. "I think I had better get ready for bed."

 

"Sorry," he mumbled.

 

She edged out around him. When she looked back over her shoulder, he was still standing there, watching her.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Dread -- cold, insistent -- skittered up her spine. There was someone in the house.

 

" _Lumos,_ " she said, but her wand tip stayed dark.

 

Movement. Clattering. Footsteps up the stairs, impossibly fast.

 

And that high-pitched laugh.

 

"No," she breathed. "It's not possible."

 

Snakelike eyes inches from her face -- that pale, pale skin -- she opened her mouth and couldn't breathe --

 

" _Hermione._ "

 

She woke screaming, fighting the hands that pinned her wrists to the bed.

 

"Hermione," the voice said again.

 

She stopped struggling. "Eric," she gasped.

 

He let go. "You were having a nightmare," he said.

 

"Oh -- " she managed to say, and then she was sitting up and wrapping her arms around him. She took deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. "I am _so_ relieved you aren't Voldemort," she said, after a moment, her words muffled against his bare chest.

 

His hands moved over her back, stroked her hair. "Who?"

 

"Never mind." She tightened her grip on him. "How did you know -- oh. Your blood."

 

He nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head. "You were afraid." He let go, shifting as though he would stand, and Hermione caught his hand.

 

"Wait," she said.

 

He stopped. Looked at her. His eyes like onyx in the moonlight.

 

She moved over, stretched out on her side, patted the spot she'd vacated. "Stay."

 

She thought he'd ask her if she was sure, but instead he pulled back the blanket and slid into bed beside her. She curled against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm a heavy comfort at her back.

 

"Thanks," she said.

 

Low rumble of laughter. "Just be careful where your hands go."

 

"Don't be a pig," she said. She flicked his nipple with her nail and laughed when he yelped.

 

"You're the one who invited me into bed," he pointed out, flattening his hand over hers.

 

"Not for sex," she retorted, lifting her head to look at him.

 

He tilted his head to meet her gaze. "Then what am I doing here?"

 

"Well." She pursed her lips and put her head back on his shoulder. "I reserve the right to change my mind about that."

 

"I'll keep my fingers crossed." His free hand found her upper arm, his fingers sketching random patterns on her skin, making her shiver. Why was she suddenly so drawn to him? Why, after all this time?

 

She closed her eyes. Felt him press a kiss into her hair.

 

 _Ah,_ she thought. _That's why._ __

"Sleep," he said.

 

She closed her eyes. Slept.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

She felt him.

 

She woke with her leg hooked over his, her hand splayed on his chest. His arm curved around her. She shifted again, and he was moving then too. Turning. Mouth against hers, soft groan, tongue brushing her lips. Was this a dream?

 

"Hermione." His voice a whispered prayer.

 

Not a dream. No. His hands skated over her stomach, her breasts; she tensed, gasped, moaned against his mouth.

 

She felt his smile. "I thought I wasn't getting any."

 

She rolled on top of him, her legs on either side of his hips. Pushed his blond hair back from his forehead. His eyes glinted in the darkness.

 

"I told you I reserved the right to change my mind," she said.

 

She smiled down at him, stretched forward, caught his lower lip lightly in her teeth. He closed his eyes. Groaned. She felt him harden against her.

 

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

 

She pulled back and smiled. "You didn't."

 

His thumbs brushed her waist, his fingers wrapping around her back. "I presume you know what you're doing."

 

"You presume correctly," she said, kissing him.

 

Eric's smile, she noticed, crinkled his eyes.

 

"You are so beautiful," he said.

 

She pushed herself up, back, and down again, fighting to keep her breathing steady as she pressed herself against his erection. He hissed softly, his hand coming up cup her neck as he kissed her.

 

"Maybe you can -- " he mumbled, plucking at her T-shirt.

 

"Yes." She wriggled out of it, tossed it aside. Shuddered as her skin touched his.

 

"I'm sorry I'm cold," he whispered.

 

"Don't be." She slid her hands over hard, muscular thighs. He pulled away long enough to slide his shorts off, to work her underwear over her hips.

 

"Eric," she murmured, her teeth at his throat.

 

As she took him into her, as she rocked against him, she felt safe.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Afterwards, he kissed her neck, her wrists, her thighs.

 

"I don't want to part with you at dawn," he said. Gentle. Reverent.

 

Hand raking through his hair: "Your place, then?" she said, which made him laugh.

 

He carried her to the ladder; she demurred, giggling, when he offered to carry her down it, as well.

 

He went down first. "I like the view from down here," he said from the bottom of the ladder, catching her around the waist and lifting her.

 

"Don't be vulgar." She kissed his collarbone. Held on as he set her down on the bed and settled next to her.

 

She lay on her side, forehead brushing his. His fingers skated over her skin.

 

"Will you be down here until sunrise?" she asked.

 

He kissed her lightly. "I will be with you."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

She woke up and he was watching her.

 

"Is it AM or PM?" she murmured.

 

His eyes flickered up, then back to her face. "Nine AM."

 

"Ohh." She rolled onto her back, stretched out. "Eric. You should've woken me."

 

"You looked peaceful." He kissed her.

 

She propped herself on her elbow. "You need to sleep."

 

"I will."

 

"You'll bleed if you don't," she said, because he already looked paler than normal.

 

"Hermione." He put his hand on her neck. "I know. I'll sleep."

 

"I need to go into town, anyway," she said, sitting up. "Sookie found out where this coven meets."

 

He sat up next to her, his fangs snapping out. "You can't go there," he growled.

 

Hermione took a deep breath. "Hey," she said. She reached up and lightly, lightly touched his left fang with her fingertip.

 

He closed his eyes. The fangs retracted. "Sorry," he mumbled. When he opened his eyes again, the panic and fear were gone. "But you can't go there," he insisted.

 

"It's a shop," Hermione pointed out. "Anyone can go there. I'm just a member of the public."

 

"You need protection," Eric said.

 

"I'll go with Sookie."

 

He glared. "Not good enough."

 

"Who, then?" She was starting to feel impatient with him.

 

"I don't _know!_ " Agonized frustration in his voice.

 

"All right, all right." She looped her arms around him, brought her face close to his. "Listen. I'll ask Angelique -- she's that voodoo queen -- we'll figure something out. I won't go alone."

 

He looked away. "Thank you."

 

"Will you sleep now?" She smoothed her palm over the cool planes of his back. "Please?"

 

"Come back at dusk," he said. "When I wake up."

 

"I will," she promised.

 

She stayed with him until he fell asleep, then gently extricated herself from his grasp. She felt a little strange about climbing out of his cabinet naked, so she found one of his tank tops and put it on. It reached halfway to her knees.

 

She was closing the cabinet doors when someone knocked on the door.

 

She went to the door, peered through the peephole. It was Sookie. She was with an extremely tall, extremely handsome dark-haired man.

 

"Just a second," she yelled through the door. She aimed her wand at the staircase. " _Accio_ bra _, accio_ hairbrush _, accio_ underwear _,_ " she muttered, and caught each item as it zoomed toward her She slid into her undergarments, raked the brush quickly through her hair, and opened the door. "Hi."

 

"We tried calling, but you didn't answer." Sookie tilted her head, looking at Hermione's makeshift dress, and narrowed her eyes. Hermione had asked her not to listen to her thoughts, but she had a feeling Sookie was doing so this morning anyway.

 

Oh well. Nothing to be done about it.

 

Sookie was smiling now, knowingly, but she didn't miss a beat. "Hermione," she said, "this is Alcide."

 

"Hi." Hermione shook his hand. Under all that scruff, Alcide had a nice smile. "Come in, won't you?"

 

They came into the foyer, Sookie smoothing her sundress and kicking off her sandals at once.

 

"I thought Alcide could go with us to MoonGoddess," Sookie said.

 

"Great."

 

Sookie must have heard the question in her voice, because she explained quickly. "Alcide's a werewolf," she said.

 

"Oh." Hermione frowned. Werewolves weren't particularly helpful in magical battles, generally, unless they were of magical ilk as well -- and those were a different set altogether, with the power to turn others if they chose. Still, Alcide could be the brawn of the outfit, if nothing more. "All right, then. Today?"

 

"They open at ten," Sookie said.

 

Hermione asked for five minutes to get properly dressed -- she decided to forego makeup -- and met them at the car.

 

She saw the logo on the side of Alcide's pickup truck and paused momentarily. "Herveaux?" she said.

 

"Yeah, that's my company," Alcide said. He boosted Sookie; she crawled into the backseat, holding her skirt down with one hand.

 

Angelique had never mentioned a brother. But her father had been a werewolf. And when she looked at Alcide, she could suddenly see Angelique in the angle of his jaw, in the curve of his brow. Was she imagining it?

 

"Is Herveaux a very common name?" Hermione asked, climbing into the passenger seat.

 

He shrugged. "Maybe." Swung himself up into the cab. "Probably."

 

"You've never lived in Mississippi, have you?"

 

He looked at her narrowly as he started the engine. "Why?"

 

"So that's a yes, then?" Hermione persisted.

 

Slow nod as he put his hand on the back of her seat and reversed the truck out of her driveway. "It is."

 

"Do you have a sister?"

 

He relaxed visibly. "Yes. Janice."

 

"Not who I meant." Hermione pulled out her cell phone and found Angelique's photo. She held it out to him. "Angelique."

 

Sookie's eyes widened. "You have another sister?" she asked.

 

"No." Alcide shook his head and pulled the truck over to the side of the road, then reached for the phone. "Just Janice."

 

"That you know of," Sookie said.

 

Alcide squinted down at the photo. "She's black," he said.

 

"Half black." Hermione took the phone back. "Her father was white. A werewolf. From what she knows of him." She paused. "She has his last name."

 

Alcide frowned. "I'm sure there are a lot of Herveauxs," he said. He put the truck in gear and swung it back onto the road.

 

"I'm sure there are." Hermione put the phone into Sookie's outstretched hand.

 

"She's pretty," Sookie said. She looked at Alcide, then back at the phone. "I can see it."

 

Alcide grunted.

 

Sookie's expression darkened. "What, you don't like the idea of maybe being related to a black girl?"

 

"What?" Alcide looked at Sookie in the rearview mirror. "Come on, Sookie. You really think that's the problem?"

 

"Well, then, what _is_ the problem?" Sookie snapped.

 

"The problem is that I don't like to speculate on hypotheticals, particularly where my family and possible illegitimate children are involved," Alcide snapped back.

 

"Hey," Hermione interrupted. "Hey. I'm sorry. I was only asking."

 

"No way to tell, anyway," Alcide muttered.

 

"Right." Hermione briefly wondered if she ought to mention to him that there was, in fact, a very easy way. "No way to tell." She took her phone back from Sookie and put it in her purse. "Where is this place, anyway?"

 

"Downtown on the square," Sookie said.

 

Hermione chatted with Sookie for the duration of the drive, but Alcide was absolutely silent.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, as they climbed out of the truck in the MoonGoddess parking lot.

 

He glanced at her. "For what?"

 

"For..." Hermione paused. "Interfering."

 

He looked at her levelly. "You didn't," he said finally. "Doesn't mean anything."

 

"Regardless," Hermione said. "I'm sorry."

 

He grunted. "Accepted."

 

"Thanks."

 

Alcide looked at the storefront, then at Sookie, who was resolutely striding toward the shop. "I'll wait outside," he said.

 

The bell on the MoonGoddess door jangled as they entered. Hermione had to stifle the urge to wrinkle her nose: it absolutely reeked of patchouli in the store. She took in the swathes of drapery on the windows, the shelves of incense burners and candles and shiny paperback books on Wicca. She forced a smile at the woman behind the counter who greeted them. "Hello."

 

"How can I help you?" the woman said. She was older -- maybe in her fifties -- and homely. She looked a little like Harry's aunt Petunia.

 

"Just looking, thanks." Hermione glanced at Sookie, who was examining a large geode.

 

Sookie took her cue and beamed at the woman. "This is just the _cutest_ little store," she said merrily.

 

Hermione marveled, once more, at Sookie's ability to put on a happy face even in the grimmest (and most malodorous) circumstances.

 

"I've always been interested in Wicca myself." Sookie put the geode down and sidled over to the counter. "It seems so...peaceful."

 

Hermione watched the woman's face. She was looking at Sookie curiously, but without malice. "It is," the woman said.

 

"I'm Sookie." Sookie stuck out her hand.

 

The woman shook it. "Marnie."

 

"So you..." Sookie glanced at the window. "Give readings?"

 

Marnie bit her lip. "Well..."

 

"Oh, _please,_ " Sookie entreated. "I'm so curious. I'd just love to know what my _aura_ says about me."

 

Marnie sighed. "All right." She made her way to a doily-covered table near the counter and sat down, then gestured for Sookie to do the same. Then she glanced at Hermione. "And you?"

 

"Not...none for me, thanks," Hermione said. She hugged her bag a little tighter, feeling the reassuring shape of her wand inside it. So far she saw absolutely no indication that there was anything magical going on here -- certainly the bags of "rune stones" and sprigs of sage for sale were as Squib as one could get -- but without casting any sort of divining spell, she had no way to know for sure.

 

"I'll need something of yours," Marnie said to Sookie. "Something personal."

 

Sookie nodded, then reached for her necklace. She unclasped it and dropped it into Marnie's outstretched hand.

 

Marnie closed her eyes. There was a long silence, then:

 

"There's someone here. An older woman. She cared for you...and someone else. A young man."

 

Sookie's eyes rounded. "Jason."

 

"Your brother?" Marnie opened her eyes.

 

"Yes."

 

"She says..." Marnie paused. "She says that the woman your brother loves is not who she appears to be."

 

"What do you mean, not what she -- " Sookie broke off; her lips parted.

 

Marnie's eyes had glazed over. "Sookie, you are in danger. This woman before you means you harm," she said. And the voice was not hers, somehow. Not hers at all.

 

Sookie had fallen absolutely still.

 

"Gran?" she whispered.

 

"What do you mean, means her harm?" Marnie seemed to come back to herself. She stared into the air, an expression of sheer bewilderment on her face. "I'd never hurt anyone! I -- "

 

But Sookie was reaching for Marnie's hand, taking the necklace back.

 

"Where are you going?" Marnie said.

 

"Lady," Sookie said, "when my gran tells me to run, I run." She slapped a bill onto the table. "Keep the change. Hermione -- "

 

"Right behind you," Hermione said.

 

Alcide was waiting outside the door. "What happened?" he said.

 

"That woman -- " Hermione jogged to keep up with Sookie. "Really does Divine."

 

"I heard my gran," Sookie said. When she reached the truck and turned back toward Alcide, there were tears in her eyes. "She told me that woman was dangerous. That she wanted to hurt me. She told me to run." She opened the door as soon as Alcide unlocked it and climbed inside.

 

"Wait." Hermione resisted when Sookie reached to pull her into the cab. "Wait. I just need to see -- " She pulled out her wand.

 

"Hermione!" Sookie looked around anxiously. "Here?"

 

"No choice." Hermione aimed her wand at the store. " _Incantatem revelio._ "

 

There was a flash, and for a moment, a translucent blue dome appeared over the MoonGoddess building, then a green one.

 

Hermione frowned. "There's a multilayered protection spell on it," she said. "And a deflecting enchantment. That woman may not act like a witch, but there's some complicated magic happening here."

 

"So what do we do?" Sookie asked anxiously.

 

Hermione climbed into the truck and buckled her seatbelt.

 

"We call for reinforcements," she said. 


	8. Chapter 8

"Reinforcements?" Alcide said. "Who?"

 

"Angelique, for one," Hermione said, rolling down her window to let the breeze in as Alcide drove. "She works for the Bureau, she'll be _extremely_ interested in knowing that there's Dark magic going on in her district."

 

"The FBI?" Sookie asked. 

 

Hermione shook her head. "The Bureau of Magical Intervention," she explained. "It's the governing body for wizards in the United States."

 

Sookie's eyes went wide. "You have a government?"

 

Hermione shrugged. "So do the vampires, don't they?" she said. "And the werewolves? We all have our own intrasocietal issues."

 

"There's no unifying werewolf government," Alcide interjected. "It's just scattered packs."

 

"Oh. Sorry." Hermione stuck her hand out the window, letting the wind blow between her fingers. "Anyway. I'll let Angelique know. She's on a committee for magical regulation, she'll know who to call."

 

There was a long silence. Then: "Hermione, why didn't you tell Alcide you can tell if they're related?"

 

Alcide looked sharply at Hermione. "What?"

 

Hermione gave Sookie a dirty look. "Thanks a lot," she said crossly.

 

"What?" Sookie shrugged. "He deserves to know."

 

"You said you wouldn't read my mind," Hermione accused.

 

"Well. You projected. I couldn't help it -- it was like you _screamed_ it," Sookie said defensively.

 

"Will you two stop fighting for one minute!" Alcide hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "Hermione."

 

"What," Hermione said, scowling.

 

"Is it true?"

 

Hermione sighed. "Yes."

 

"How?"

 

"Yeah," Sookie said, poking her head between the seats interestedly, "how?"

 

Hermione sighed. "I'll show you when we get back," she said.

 

Once they were back at her house, Hermione found a pen Angelique had handed her one day. She'd forgotten to return it. She put it in Alcide's hand.

 

"Don't hold it tight," she said. "Just let it rest on your palm."

 

"A _pen_ is going to tell us if your friend is Alcide's sister?" Sookie asked.

 

"It's not the object itself, it's who owns it," Hermione explained. "It's an old spell. They used it back before there was much interaction between wizarding communities. When there was a much smaller, um, marital pool." She tipped her head meaningfully.

 

"I see." Alcide rolled the pen in his palm, examining the logo printed on it. "Viagra?"

 

"Her cousin’s a doctor," Hermione explained.

 

"Right."

 

Hermione let her wand hover over the pen. She made a figure-8 in the air over Alcide's hand. " _Genea revelio._ "

 

The pen began to vibrate violently, so much that it almost lifted off Alcide's palm.

 

" _Finite incantatem,_ " Hermione said, and the pen immediately fell still. "There you go."

 

"So?" Alcide's brow was drawn down. His eyes were blazing.

 

"You're related, certainly." Hermione took the pen from Alcide's hand and put it back in her bag.

 

"She's my sister." His voice was tight.

 

"Can't be sure," Hermione said, forcing lightness into her tone. "But you've got some shared blood."

 

Alcide turned away from her, his expression unreadable. "I should probably meet her," he said, his voice flat.

 

Hermione leaned toward him, trying to meet his eyes. "Alcide -- "

 

He stood up. "I have to go," he muttered, and walked out of the kitchen.

 

Hermione looked at Sookie. Sookie was looking after Alcide. She glanced over guiltily.

 

"I should -- " she started, but Hermione was already shooing her away.

 

"Hurry up, you can catch him," Hermione said.

 

Flash of grateful brown eyes, a flutter of frills, and Sookie was darting after Alcide. And Hermione was alone.

 

"Well," she said to herself. "That was interesting."

 

She called Angelique.

 

"Did you just _Genea_ me?" Angelique asked, by way of hello.

 

Hermione blinked. "How'd you know?"

 

"Pfft." Hermione could almost hear Angelique roll her eyes. "Magical regulation, remember? You think I wouldn't know if a proxy spell was being performed on me?"

 

"Sorry," Hermione said. "So I guess you already know."

 

"Noooooo." Angelique dragged out the word. "I only know it was performed. What happened?"

 

"You have a blood relative werewolf in Shreveport," Hermione said.

 

There was a moment of silence. "My father?" Angelique asked, her voice suddenly small.

 

"No, no," Hermione said hurriedly, although she remembered the logo on Alcide's truck: _Herveaux and Son._ Best, probably, to keep any further declarations to herself until she had more facts. "He's in his thirties, probably. Maybe a cousin, or -- "

 

"Or brother?" Angelique perked up.

 

"Maybe," Hermione said grudgingly.

 

"You should have _some_ idea," Angelique said. "How strong was the response?"

 

"Pretty strong," Hermione admitted.

 

"I'm coming up there," Angelique said.

 

"I'm not sure that's a good -- "

 

 _Crack_ and Angelique was standing in the kitchen, cell phone to her ear. "Hi," she said.

 

Hermione sighed. "He just left."

 

"Well, let's go find him," Angelique said. She put her phone in her purse -- a Fendi, today -- and snapped it shut. "Besides, we need to go check out this coven."

 

"Um." Hermione shifted guiltily. "We sort of already did."

 

Angelique stopped in her tracks. "What do you mean, you already did?" Her green eyes flashed.

 

"Well, Sookie showed up with the werewolf," Hermione said defensively. "She thought he could provide some protection."

 

"So he's magical?" Angelique arched an eyebrow.

 

Hermione cleared her throat. "No."

 

Angelique gave her a withering look. "You don't expect me to believe that you actually thought he could _do_ anything if you got into trouble."

 

"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "But I didn't think anything would happen in the middle of the day."

 

"You're getting too comfortable, Granger," Angelique said crossly. "We aren't vampires, remember? A Dark wizard is perfectly capable of kicking up trouble in broad daylight."

 

"I know, I know." Hermione looked away. "Sorry."

 

"Hmph." Angelique pursed her lips. "No harm, no foul, I suppose, but will you please include the appropriate people in your plans the next time you do something crazy like that?"

 

"Yes. Sorry again."

 

Angelique had her phone out again; her thumbs flew over the screen. "Where's the coven meet?"

 

Hermione told her. "But I don't know when."

 

"No problem." Angelique looked up. "I can have a squad up here by six. If all goes well, we can get this little problem cleaned up by tomorrow."

 

Tomorrow.

 

Eric could have his memory back by tomorrow.

 

"Hey." Angelique put a hand on Hermione's arm. "You okay? You look sick."

 

Hermione shook herself. "I'm fine," she said.

 

"Well, let's go then." Angelique hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. "I want to meet this werewolf before we stomp out evil."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

They found Alcide and Sookie at Merlotte's.

 

"Hey," Angelique said, striding right up to their window table. "You're Alcide, right?"

 

Alcide raised his eyebrows. "I am," he said, and Hermione could see his tension in the set of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw.

 

Angelique stuck her hand out. "I think you're my half-brother," she said.

 

Alcide opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

 

"Ah," he said.

 

"My mama told me my daddy was dead," Angelique said, sliding into the booth beside Sookie, who was watching with an interested expression on her face. "Your daddy alive?"

 

Another pause. Alcide's eyebrows were creeping higher and higher. "He is," he said finally.

 

The only sign of stress on Angelique's face was the way she was clenching her jaw -- and as she sat down beside Alcide, Hermione could suddenly see the similarity between Angelique and the werewolf. "His name Jack?" Angelique asked, her tone too cool.

 

"Jackson," Alcide said.

 

Angelique looked down. Nodded slowly. "Yep," she said.

 

"Hermione," Sookie said suddenly.

 

Hermione looked at her. "Yeah?"

 

"Need to talk to you." Sookie nudged Angelique, who slid out of the booth to let her through. When Hermione stood, Sookie grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the door.

 

"What are you _doing?_ " Hermione hissed, once they were outside.

 

Sookie gave her a look. "Isn't it obvious?" she said. "They need some family time."

 

Hermione looked back, through the window. Alcide and Angelique were leaning toward each other, talking intently now. As Hermione watched, Alcide started laughing at something Angelique had said.

 

"Oh," she said.

 

"Plus," Sookie added, "they were both so curious about each other that it was absolutely _deafening._ "

 

" _Oh._ " That made more sense. Hermione leaned against the building. "What do we do, then?"

 

Sookie shrugged. "Wait, I guess."

 

They didn't have to wait long.

 

Ten minutes after Hermione and Sookie had gone outside, Angelique came flying out of Merlotte's. Alcide was close behind her.

 

"Hermione," she said sharply. "We gotta go."

 

Hermione looked up. "Huh?"

 

"That coven." Angelique waved her phone. "I just got a text from the section director. Turns out this is a little bigger than we thought."

 

"What do you mean, a little bigger?" Hermione pulled out her wand, preparing to Apparate, but Sookie seized her arm.

 

"We're coming with you," she said.

 

"Ooh." Angelique grimaced. "You probably ought to stay here."

 

"Now hang on a minute," Alcide interjected. "You don't think I'm going to get myself a sister and then let her walk into a lion's den an hour later, do you?"

 

Angelique raised her eyebrows. "Are you going to play guard dog?"

 

"We might be able to help," Sookie said quickly, glancing at Alcide, who was visibly bristling. "Come on, Hermione," she added.

 

Hermione looked at Angelique. "A telepath might be useful," she said.

 

Angelique huffed, rolled her eyes. " _Fine,_ fine, fine," she said, "we'll just Side-along them, then, but I'm not responsible if anyone gets hurt."

 

"We can take care of ourselves," Alcide said crossly.

 

"Hold on," Angelique said, sticking her arm out in Sookie's direction.

 

Sookie looped her arm through Angelique's. "Like this?"

 

"Good enough." Angelique tugged her a little closer. "Hermione. Shreveport, Fourth and Walnut street. By that diner. Pascal's."

 

"Right." Hermione reached for Alcide. It was a little awkward, trying to Side-along someone who was so much bigger than she was, but --

 

"You're not going to like this," she said to him, and when he nodded, she swept them both to Shreveport.

 

Alcide stumbled when she let go of him. "Oh my God."

 

"Sorry," Hermione said, feeling guilty when he leaned over and began retching into the bushes.

 

Sookie looked relatively unscathed. "That wasn't so bad."

 

"Speak for yourself," Alcide grunted.

 

"I am," Sookie said.

 

"When you're finished," Angelique said to Alcide, "we've got some talking to do." She gestured toward the diner.

 

Inside, it was completely empty except for a single dark-haired witch sitting at a table. She stood when Hermione and Angelique came in.

 

"What, did you rent the place out?" Sookie said from behind them. She had a supportive arm around Alcide's waist: he was still pale.

 

"Not exactly," the witch said. She extended a hand to Hermione. "Hi. I'm Jana Lee. I'm BMI Section Director for the region."

 

Hermione took her outstretched hand. "What's going on?" she asked.

 

Once the introductions were finished, Lee gestured for them to sit. "This coven," she said, "has a little more going on than just Obliviating a vampire."

 

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

 

"I mean," Lee said, "that there's a medium involved -- the woman who runs the store -- "

 

"Marnie," Sookie interrupted.

 

Lee continued as though she hadn't heard. "Marnie Stonebrook," she said. "She's a person of interest. One of our agents has been undercover in the coven for the past six months."

 

"What?" Angelique stared. "Who?"

 

"Jesus Velasquez. Sorry -- that's his pseudonym -- Guerrero," Lee said.

 

"Are you _serious?_ " Angelique thumped the counter with her palm. "That's where he went. I thought he was in Mexico."

 

"Wait." Sookie waved both hands in the air. "Wait. Jesus Velasquez?"

 

"Yes." Lee looked at her curiously. "Do you know him?"

 

"As a matter of fact, I do," Sookie said, "and he's going to get an earful. I had no idea he was...well, I knew he was...well." She broke off, her brow furrowing. "I didn't know he worked for y'all."

 

"He's been working as an orderly in a psychiatric hospital. Posing as a Muggle," Lee said. "In any case. Marnie Stonebrook has been on our radar for years, ever since she was confirmed as magical at age twelve and declined to attend any kind of training institution."

 

"Declined?" Hermione said blankly. "People decline?" She'd been absolutely _thrilled_ to receive her Hogwarts letter years ago, and she couldn't imagine anyone turning down the chance to hone his or her magical skills.

 

"Rarely," Lee said. "They don't usually pose a problem -- they opt to live as Muggles, which is fine, but we do monitor their activity in the event of any uncontrolled or unauthorized magic."

 

"Which Marnie apparently did," Angelique said.

 

"Yes." Lee folded her hands in front of her. "It started with a dead bird being brought back to life. Now our intelligence tells us that she may be plotting to Unearth the vampires in the area."

 

Angelique's eyes rounded. "No."

 

"Wait," Alcide interrupted. "Unearth?"

 

"Summon them during the day, when they go to ground," Angelique explained.

 

Sookie paled. "That would kill them."

 

Angelique arched an eyebrow at her. "That's the idea," she said.

 

"She appears to have some kind of personal vendetta," Lee said. "Your Obliviated vampire's associate? Pam Swynford de Beaufort? Marnie cast some sort of spell on her and practically melted her face off."

 

"Now wait a second," Angelique said. She looked annoyed. "She didn't have any magical training. Some focused energy, fine, she reanimated a bird. But she shouldn't know how to execute spells or enchantments."

 

"Well." Lee cleared her throat. "That’s where it gets complicated. It appears that Marnie may be possessed. By the spirit of a witch."

 

Angelique dropped her wand.

 

"You've got to be kidding me," she said.

 

"Unfortunately, no." Lee frowned. "Marnie is a powerful medium -- powerful enough that we may be lucky she _didn't_ get any magical training before this happened. She appears to be under the influence of the spirit of Antonia Gavilán de Logroño.”

 

There was a beat of silence. Angelique retrieved her wand.

 

"Um." Alcide raised a hand. "Are we supposed to know who that is?"

 

Lee sketched a complicated pattern into the air with her wand, and suddenly before them was the translucent figure of a dark-haired woman, screaming silently. "Antonia was a witch who lived four hundred years ago, in Spain. She was captured by vampire inquisitors during the Spanish Inquisition, raped, and subsequently burned at the stake. Or so say our vampire liaisons." She tapped her nails on the table. "She Unearthed and killed vampires within a twenty-mile radius as she burned, and it looks like she's going to try to do it again."

 

Sookie had been listening to the conversation, looking increasingly ill. "There has to be a way to stop her," she said.

 

"There is," Lee said, "but it's going to take a lot of firepower. We've got wizards from the southern and midwestern regions taking Portkeys in tonight. With any luck, we'll be coordinated and ready to go on the offensive by morning."

 

"When's the coven meeting?" Angelique's expression was stony.

 

"Jesus says they're meeting tonight, but this spell Marnie is planning should take a lot of preparation. Hours, maybe. And they won't move til daylight, obviously." Lee stood.

 

"What do we need to do?" Sookie asked. "How can we help?"

 

Lee looked at her narrowly. "You're a Muggle -- "

 

"I'm sorry," Sookie interrupted, "but you're going to have to explain that word to me, because it _doesn't_ sound nice."

 

"Non-magical person," Angelique interpreted.

 

"Right," Lee said. "Muggles shouldn't be involved."

 

"She's a telepath," Hermione said.

 

Lee's eyebrows went up. "You don't say," she said slowly, gazing at Sookie. For a moment, she didn't say anything else. Then she snapped back to attention.

 

"I won't bar you from being there," she said, "but once things get underway, I'd ask that you remain inside the wire." She looked at Angelique. "You and I," she added, "have planning to do."

 

Hermione Side-alonged Sookie home first. "I'll text you when we're ready to move," she promised. "In the meantime, I think the Director had a good idea -- tell the vampires to chain themselves down with silver. They won't be able to resist going into the sun without it."

 

Sookie nodded seriously. "I'll tell Bill," she said, "and he'll spread the word." She started to close the door, then hesitated, biting her lip. "And Eric?" she asked.

 

"Don't worry," Hermione said, stepping off the porch. "I'll take care of Eric."

 

When she got back to the diner, she found Alcide arguing with Lee.

 

" -- can't just go in _alone,_ " he was saying.

 

"She won't be alone," Lee snapped, "and furthermore -- "

 

"Furthermore," Angelique said crossly, "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself, thank you very much."

 

"Still," Alcide said, "I can't just sit by while she -- "

 

"Enough!" Angelique exploded. "Alcide. You're very nice, and I like you a lot, but I just met you and already you're bossing me around."

 

Suddenly Alcide grinned. "I'm your brother," he pointed out. "That's what I'm here for."

 

" _Baby_ brother," Angelique said, but she grudgingly smiled back. "Now. Will you go away, please. I have work to do." She shoved him toward Hermione.

 

Hermione took his arm. "Come on," she said placatingly. "I'll buy you some ice cream."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Angelique told Hermione that she was welcome to stay for the planning phase, but Hermione couldn't focus: she was thinking of Eric.

 

"I'll come back later tonight," she said finally, the third time she'd misheard Angelique's instructions. "

 

"Right," Angelique said, looking amused. "Go on back to your vampire, then."

 

"He's not mine," Hermione muttered, mostly to herself, and Apparated home.

 

On her front porch was a sealed box. Taped to it was a note: "xo, Sookie." It clanked when she carried it inside, and when she opened it, she found yards and yards of silver chain.

 

"Excellent," she said. She checked her watch: an hour til sunset.

 

" _Wingardium Leviosa,_ " she said, floating the box down into Eric's room after she'd climbed down the ladder. She put the box in the corner and curled into bed with him.

 

At last, he started to shift and stir. "Hello," he said, opening his eyes and smiling at her.

 

She didn't return the smile. "Hi," she said.

 

"What's wrong?" He sat up.

 

She told him what she'd learned that day. The more she talked, the stormier his expression became.

 

" _Tomorrow?"_ he said. "They're doing this tomorrow?"

 

"Hopefully they'll be neutralized by then," Hermione said, "but yes, tomorrow."

 

"And I have to chain myself with silver." Eric was scowling. He tightened his arm around her.

 

"To be on the safe side, yes."

 

He looked away, his jaw tight. He didn't say anything for a long time. Then: "Will you do it?"

 

She followed his gaze to the box of silver chain. "Of course."

 

He nodded shortly. "Be careful," he said.

 

"I will," she replied, putting her head on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Eric. I will."

 

She didn't sleep, that night.

 

She got several texts from Angelique, updating her on their progress. Since Hermione was a civilian, she'd be second-line – a medic, and backup, if need be. She'd bring all her stockpiled Healing and Blood Replenishing potions. She hoped she wouldn't need them.

 

At four AM: _We'll be ready for you at five-thirty. Silver the vampires._

 

Her stomach tightened. "Eric," she said, lifting her head from his shoulder.

 

He turned his attention from the television. "Yeah?" he said, and then he saw the expression on her face. "Oh."

 

She nodded. "It's time."

 

She forwarded the text message on to Sookie, then retrieved the box. He watched her from the bed as she lifted the heavy silver chain. It slid through her fingers, making her shudder.

 

"Ready?" she asked.

 

He smiled grimly. "Ready."

 

Three chains: one for his legs, one for his stomach and wrists, one for his neck. She hadn't thought it would be so horrific.

 

 _It's for his own protection,_ she reminded herself, as he howled and writhed, as his skin sizzled and smoked.

 

"I'm sorry," she whispered over and over, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry."

 

After she had placed the third strand of silver at his throat, she bent and pressed her lips to his forehead. "I'm sorry," she said again.

 

He was shaking. "I'm okay," he gritted out, although his fangs were out, and bloodtears were tracked down his face and had stained the pillow. The skin beneath the chain was red and raw; the smell of scorched flesh turned her stomach.

 

"It's only for a little while," she said, trying not to sob.

 

"I know."

 

"I'll stay with you," she said. "For as long as I can."

 

He nodded. "Thank you."

 

She curled beside him, stroked his hair and his chest, spoke to him softly when he groaned and jerked in pain, and oh, how she wished she could cast some kind of spell on him to stop him from hurting.

 

She waited until the last possible minute to leave him. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, her chest tight, her stomach knotted.

 

"Hermione," he said.

 

She stopped. Turned around.

 

He hesitated, then: "Be careful."

 

"I will," she said, and Apparated away before she could start crying again.

 

Angelique looked different in battle garb: combat boots instead of stilettos, long black robes instead of her usual colorful cropped ones, no jewelry at all. 

 

"Hi," she said, as Hermione entered the diner. "Get some sleep?"

 

"Very funny," Hermione said. "What's the plan?" She glanced around at the twenty-odd wizards gathered in small groups in the diner. They were all dressed like Angelique, and they all wore similar grim expressions.

 

"They put a little bit of a push on us," Angelique said. "Jesus thought they would take some time to prepare, but they're going to move at sunrise. We'll break the protection enchantments on the building first. The Director thought we'd be able to get straight to Antonia, but it looks like she's put Guard spells on each individual and on the coven as a whole. It'll be tricky."

 

"And Marnie?" Hermione asked, sliding her bag of potions under the table.

 

Angelique pointed to a small cluster of wizards and witches in the corner. "Aurors. They'll expel Antonia’s spirit from Marnie's body." She grimaced. "Hopefully."

 

"And if she's too well embedded?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Lee had approached as they were talking.

 

"We kill her," she said flatly.

 


	9. Chapter 9

She ached all over.

 

She’d taken more hits than a civilian medic should have during the battle, and she was so tired and sore she feared she’d Splinch herself going home. She made sure Sookie was all right – and yes, maybe checking four times was an overreaction, but she couldn’t afford to be careless – then wearily flicked her wand.

 

Eric opened his eyes when he heard the _crack_ of the Apparition. "You're okay," he said, relief evident in his expression. He had dark circles around his eyes, and he looked absolutely ravaged: the silver-burns still smoked and sizzled whenever he moved. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, though, and that made her feel better.

 

"Of course," Hermione said briskly, going to his side. She reached for the chain at his throat. "Fast or slow?"

 

He grunted. "Fast," he said, and she closed her eyes and pulled.

 

When the chains were off, he was raw-skinned and trembling. She pulled her hair back and bared her throat. "Here," she said.

 

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

 

"Don't be ridiculous." She reached down and pulled him to a sitting position, regarding the blood trickling out of his ears and his paler-than-normal skin. "You look awful."

 

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. At once, his fangs snapped out.

 

She hissed and clutched at him when he sank his teeth into her neck, but she didn't cry out or flinch away. She held onto him, stock-still, until she started to feel dizzy.

 

"Enough," she said.

 

He groaned and tightened his grip. She could hear him swallowing.

 

"I said _enough,_ " she repeated, and pushed at him.

 

Still, he held on.

 

"Eric," she said, a little desperately now. "Please let me go."

 

At last he released her. "Sorry," he said roughly, drawing his forearm across his mouth.

 

She fell back, gasping. "You might've drained me," she said, closing her eyes against the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake her. "Be careful next time."

 

He was biting his wrist, now, holding it to her lips. She flinched away.

 

“Come on,” he said impatiently.

 

“I don’t –” she started, intending to tell him that she’d prefer to use her Healing potion.

 

He interrupted before she could finish her thought. “Yes you do.” He suddenly had his other hand clamped at the back of her skull, not pulling but not yielding either, and after a moment she opened her mouth.

 

"Thanks," she said breathlessly, when she felt the wound at her neck heal. She licked her lips.

 

"No problem," he said. He looked at her, and at once she realized it.

 

"You don't remember," she said.

 

Comprehension lit his eyes, drew his blood-smeared mouth into a scowl. "Should I?"

 

She bit her lip. "Marnie's dead.”

 

"The spell should be broken," he said. He reached up, drew her against him almost absently.

 

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

 

He was silent for a long moment.

 

"It's okay," he said at last.

 

She lifted her head and stared at him. "What do you mean, _it's okay_?"

 

He looked away. "I mean," he said, "this is enough.”

 

“How can you say that?” She twisted in his arms, turning her back on him. “To be missing that much of yourself – Eric – ”

 

“I don’t miss that part,” he said, “as long as I have you.”

 

She felt something rising in her chest, something hot and panicked and angry. “I have to make this right,” she said, pushing him away and standing up. She reached for the ladder.

 

“Wait,” he said, sounding – what? Desperate, now. “Hermione, wait.”

 

“I’ll be back,” she said, without looking at him. She spoke as she climbed. “I’ll make this right, Eric. I swear it.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Hermione spent most of the afternoon at Angelique’s, reading about enchanting the undead. She had just gotten the hang of the Magicbook app when Angelique snatched the iPad out of her hands.

 

“I’ve got it,” she said.

 

“Got what?” Hermione said, trying to take the iPad back.

 

Angelique held it out of her reach. “You’re going to thank me, oh yes,” she sang, jumping to her feet. “Let me go check a few things. You be around tonight?”

 

“Yes – “

 

“Great,” Angelique said, before Hermione could get in another word. “Lock up before you leave, okay?”

 

And she was gone.

 

Hermione stared in disbelief at Angelique’s empty chair. It wasn’t the first time Angelique had Apparated away on a whim, but it certainly couldn’t have come at a worse time: Hermione was just starting to understand the complications of enchanting a vampire. She felt like she could almost – _almost_ – understand what she might need to do to help Eric.

 

“Damn it, Angelique,” she muttered. She stood, brushed off her jeans, and pulled her phone out of her pocket.

 

_Coming to check on you,_ she typed, and sent the text to Sookie. She didn't wait for a response.

 

Surprisingly, Sookie looked sunny and chipper, and not at all surprised when Hermione appeared in the foyer. She handed Hermione the pint of Cherry Garcia she was eating. “Here,” she said. “You look like you need this more than I do. How’s Eric?”

 

“I find it hard to believe that you’re already playing Martha Stewart,” Hermione said, following Sookie into the living room.

 

Sookie snorted. “Please,” she said. “I’m barely achieving Giada.”

 

“I'd at least give you Barefoot Contessa.” Hermione took an enormous mouthful and dropped onto the couch. “To answer your question,” she added, swallowing, “Eric is fine. And by _fine,_ I mean persistently amnesiac and perfectly happy about it.”

 

Footsteps on the stairs.

 

Hermione turned to see Tara come into the living room. “Hi,” she said.

 

“Oh.” Tara looked surprised. “I thought you’d be with – right. Hi.” She walked past Hermione and went into the kitchen. Hermione heard the refrigerator door open, then the clank of bottles. Tara came back in a moment later with two root beer floats. She set one in front of Sookie.

 

“Thanks,” Sookie said. To Hermione, she said, “I can guess why.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “I’m just not comfortable with it,” she said. “For him to give up his memory, that much of himself, and substitute _me_ instead…It isn’t right.”

 

“It’s dangerous, is what it is,” Tara said. She kept her gaze down, but her voice had a sudden edge. “Any time you get tangled up in fang business, but especially something like that.” She looked up at Hermione with lion’s eyes. “He’ll think he owns you, Hermione, and you _do not_ want that.”

 

“He doesn’t think he owns me,” Hermione said uncomfortably, for hadn’t Eric offered that only the night before? _I could make you mine_ , he’d said.

 

Tara's scowl deepened. "Yeah. Well. Sookie’s said the same thing, and it's almost gotten her killed more times than I can count."

 

"Tara -- " Sookie started.

 

" _Including_ today," Tara continued, as though Sookie hadn't spoken. She turned to Sookie. "You're just lucky Hermione had that potion with her."

 

Sookie nodded contritely. "I know."

 

"Still," Hermione said, casting a placating look at Tara, "let's never do that again, all right?"

 

Tara gulped the last of her root beer and stood. "No kidding," she muttered.

 

While she was in the kitchen, Sookie mouthed to Hermione, "Don't tell her about Eric."

 

Hermione nodded. It had been increasingly difficult to figure out who was supposed to know what -- it only got murkier when she'd learned that the Bureau's undercover _brujo_ was the boyfriend of one of Sookie’s friends -- so she'd decided it was best to keep her mouth shut around everyone but Sookie until all residual damage was repaired.

 

"I'm tired," Tara said, coming back into the living room. "Sook, you mind if I shower and crash for a while?"

 

"'Course," Sookie said. "Hermione, you want to stay too? Post-battle nap?"

 

Hermione shook her head. "Thanks. I'll head home."

 

"You're okay, Hermione," Tara said, scowling, "but I don't trust that witchcraft shit."

 

"For the last time, Tara, what that coven was doing wasn't _witchcraft,_ " Sookie said, sounding exasperated. "It was necromancy, and it was illegal."

 

"Whatever," Tara said. "It's all the same to me."

 

Hermione sighed. "Good night," she said. The last thing she saw before she Disapparated was Sookie rolling her eyes.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Eric would be sleeping, of course. It was still daylight for another four hours.

 

All the same, it was awfully difficult to keep from going down to the hatch, especially with the twitchy, anxious feeling in her stomach getting worse by the minute. It was a relief when the sun finally set and she heard Eric's voice from the basement.

 

"Hermione," he shouted. A second after that, the hatch door slammed and his arms were around her.

 

"You scared me," she said. She wanted to push him away, wanted to protest, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. And it didn't seem so bad, suddenly, that he had traded his memory for her.

 

He tightened his grip. "I thought you were in danger."

 

"You worry too much." She tilted her head back and looked at him. Reached up to push his hair off his forehead.

 

He bent to kiss her. "All I want," he said in a low voice, his lips against hers, "is to protect you."

 

She took a shuddering breath. "You already have," she said.

 

He trailed his tongue over her throat, her jaw, her earlobe; she moaned involuntarily. "From what you've told me," he said hoarsely, "it was my fault you needed protection in the first place."

 

"I'm an adult, Eric." She slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "I make my own choices."

 

He pulled back, studying her. "So you do," he said.

 

"And right now -- " She let her lips brush his. "I am choosing to tell you that I'm fine."

 

His low groan rocked her, but when he pulled at her tank top, she twisted away. "I need a shower," she said.

 

"Hm." He reached for her again, and this time succeeded in stripping the tank top off. "So do I, fortunately."

 

"Well, come on, then." Hermione wriggled free. She headed for the stairs and glanced back at him. 

 

He was watching her, blue eyes bright with intensity. "Right behind you," he said.

 

She led him upstairs in her bra, dodging when he tried to unclasp it. "Please," she said deprecatingly. "I am a lady."

 

"Too bad for me," Eric said.

 

In the bathroom, she was suddenly self-conscious. She turned away from him, feeling silly as she stepped out of her shorts and dropped her bra to the floor.

 

"It's kind of late in the game for modesty," Eric pointed out.

 

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was nude, now, already half-hard. She faced him. "Well."

 

He flipped the water on with one hand and pulled her toward him with the other.

 

"We're wasting water," she said breathlessly.

 

"Better get in, then," he said.

 

Under the hot spray, she let her hands wander over his body. Sliding up his sides, across his chest, hearing him mumble something when she scraped her teeth over his skin. She looked up at him and saw that his fangs were out.

 

"You normally -- " She broke off, gasping, as he rolled her left nipple between his fingers. "Do you -- bite -- during sex?"

 

Feral smile. "Sometimes."

 

She put her hand on the back of his neck, brought his forehead down to hers. Wrapped her other hand firmly around his cock. He hissed, his hips jerking toward her.

 

"If you want to -- " she said, feeling flushed and hot, feeling the slickness between her thighs -- "you can bite me."

 

Low laughter. "I always want to," he said, and then his mouth was at her throat, his fangs pressing against her skin.

 

She stiffened, hissed, clutched at him. It was different now; this time, the sharp pain at her neck was spiked with arousal and need. And when his long fingers pressed against her, slipping over swollen hills and flooded valleys, she was _oh_ so thankful that he was holding her up because she thought she might pass out from the sweetness of it. The heat in her body swirled and circled and focused and she gritted out "More" and he was lifting her then, opening her, sliding into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer, moving against him. She came with her teeth sunk into his shoulder, with his mouth still on her neck.

 

"Good lord," she said, when she could speak again. "Eric." Seeing the dark swirls of red running clockwise down the drain.

 

He bit his wrist and held it to her mouth and she drank, willingly this time, feeling the pinch of pain at her throat fade into nothing, feeling the warm, heady buzz of his blood in every cell of her body.

 

"My turn," he rasped, and still buried in her, with her legs around his waist, he stepped out of the shower and carried her to her bed.

 

She was expecting him to lay her down, but maybe that was too gentlemanly for a Viking, or maybe he didn't have the patience. Instead he sat on the bed dripping wet. She braced herself against the mattress and he leaned back on his elbows, fangs out, watching her intently as she rocked and moaned against him.

 

"I'm undone," he said at last, after he'd come for the fourth time, and Hermione made a mental note to pay more attention to vampire sexual physiology next time.

 

"I think it's your blood," Hermione said, grimacing as he slid out of her. "I promise you, I'm normally not like this."

 

"I like you like this." He rolled on top of her, slid down until he was lying between her thighs. It was strange, at first, that his tongue was cool against her, but he what he lacked in temperature he compensated for in skill. Before long she was writhing and clutching his hair, and when she absolutely couldn't come one more time, she finally pushed him away.

 

"I didn't realize sex with you required training beforehand," she said.

 

His brow knitted. "I'd rather not think of you _training_ with anyone else," he growled.

 

"Sorry." She reached for him; he crawled up to curl against her, his stomach pressed to her back, his hand tracing circles on her hip. "Poor choice of words."

 

She closed her eyes, but opened them again when he spoke.

 

"Do you think," he said, his hand on her hip falling still, "that you'll still feel this way about me when I get my memory back?"

 

She bit her lip. Brought his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

 

"Do you think you'll still feel this way about _me_?" she said.

 

He made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. "Don't answer a question with a question."

 

She sighed. "I hope so."

 

"Me too," he said.

 

There was a long pause, and Hermione was just drifting off to sleep when Eric spoke again.

 

"And your wizard?" he said.

 

"'S'not mine," Hermione mumbled.

 

"What is he, then?"

 

"He's..." Hermione opened her eyes and rolled over to face him. "My friend."

 

"Your friend who wants to fuck you."

 

She bit him on the arm, harder than was strictly necessary.

 

"Ow," he said, but his eyes lit and sparked when she did it.

 

"Don't be crass, then," Hermione said. She paused. "If he wants to...do anything...that's his affair. Not mine."

 

"So you admit he wants you." There was a small, triumphant smile playing on Eric's lips.

 

"I admit nothing of the sort," Hermione said. "Shut up, please, I want to go to sleep."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

When she woke up, Eric, of course, was gone.

 

It was six AM and she was still tired, so she went to his cabinet and crawled down the ladder and curled into bed with him. She didn't think he'd wake up -- he'd told her he was actually dead when he slept, most of the time -- but he stirred when he felt her against him, and opened his eyes.

 

"Hi," she whispered, and was rewarded with a sweetly sleepy smile.

 

"Missed you," he mumbled, and oh, damn this spell. Damn this amnesia that had turned him into someone she could love.

 

"You too." She nestled against him in the crook of his arm.

 

She slept curled against him until after noon, then quietly crept upstairs. She had a missed call from Sookie and two text messages. One each from Sookie and Angelique.

 

Sookie's: _PAM IS FIXED! Call me_

Angelique's: _I am a wizarding genius. Also, best. Brother. Ever._

She called Sookie back as she dressed. "Pam is fixed?" she asked, hopping to put on her second shoe.

 

"Her face looks amazing, Angelique figured it out." Sookie sounded wound up. "You're never gonna believe it. You have to come over here."

 

"When?"

 

Sookie laughed. "Well. Angelique has been _celebrating_ with Pam since before dawn."

 

"Oh." It took a minute to sink in. " _Oh._ "

 

"Yeah."

 

"So I shouldn't try to call Angelique back, then," Hermione said.

 

Another giggle. "You can try."

 

"What did she do?" Hermione went downstairs and found her bag. "Never mind, can I come over?"

 

"Sure." Sookie hung up.

 

"Good lord," Hermione said, when she'd Apparated into Sookie's living room, "what happened to you?"

 

Sookie...was _glowing._

"It's gone down a lot," Sookie said, holding her hands out in front of her and examining them. "You should've seen it right after Angelique -- " She frowned. "Did whatever she did."

 

"What on _earth_ did she do?" Hermione caught Sookie's face in her hands and turned her from side to side. Sookie's skin looked as though someone was holding a light bulb behind it. She was literally luminous. "I've never seen anything like this. Are you feeling all right?"

 

Sookie shrugged. "I feel fine," she said. "I was kind of...buzzy...after Angelique cast that spell, but it went away pretty quickly."

 

"Buzzy," Hermione repeated. She sat down beside Sookie and took her phone out of her purse. "Did she try to reverse it?"

 

Sookie nodded. "She said it must be aftereffect, rather than the spell itself."

 

Hermione's thumbs flew over the screen. "Which was...what?"

 

"It was an amplifying spell," Sookie said. "And all of a sudden I felt...all this _energy._ She told me to aim it at Pam, so I did, and then I just kind of -- pushed -- and next thing I know, Pam's on the floor with a normal face and I'm glowing."

 

"Good lord," Hermione said again .She decided, immediately after sending the text, that texting was too slow. She called Angelique's phone instead. "She could've killed you."

 

"She mentioned that." Sookie's face turned thoughtful. "I told her to try anyway."

 

Angelique's phone rang five times, then went to voicemail. Hermione tried again. This time, Angelique picked up.

 

"Hey," she said breathlessly.

 

"Isn't Pam asleep yet?" Hermione said, putting her on speakerphone. "I need to talk to you."

 

In the background, she could hear Pam's languorous drawl. "Tell her to call back later. We're busy."

 

"Angelique," Hermione complained.

 

"All right, all right, I'll be over."

 

Hermione heard Pam's snort of annoyance as she hung up.

 

"Pam must like her," Sookie said. "She never wants to spend time with anyone except Eric."

 

"Yeah, lucky for us." Hermione narrowed her eyes at Sookie. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

 

Sookie shrugged. "I'm a little tired, is all," she said.

 

Angelique Apparated into the living room a few minutes later, looking more rumpled than Hermione had ever seen her. Her hair was frizzy, she wasn't wearing makeup, and her clothes --

 

"That has to be Pam's," Sookie said, looking as though she was fighting not to smile.

 

Angelique smoothed the corset dress. "It is," she said primly, lifting her chin, "and Granger -- " she aimed her wand at Hermione -- "you keep your mouth shut."

 

"I didn't say anything." Hermione held up both hands.

 

"I can hear you thinking," Angelique replied.

 

"What I'm thinking," Hermione said, tilting her head toward Sookie, "is that you somehow managed to figure out how to lift a spell on a vampire _without_ necromancy, and I would _very_ much like to know how you did it."

 

The smile broadened. "I thought you might," Angelique said. She reached into her bag and pulled out her iPad.

 

"Don't tell me it was in your portable library all along," Hermione moaned.

 

"No." Angelique kicked off her sandals and sat down next to Hermione. "It took a little bit of work, actually. Lots of reading, and I had to ask a friend who's done some work with humanoid fairies."

 

"I can't decide whether being called a _humanoid fairy_ makes me mad or not," Sookie said thoughtfully.

 

"Humanoid partial fairy, anyway," Angelique amended with a chuckle. "Anyway. I was looking through some West African and Haitian texts, and I found a few paragraphs on transference enchantment as it related to zombies."

 

"You're gonna have to explain that," Sookie said, grimacing, "because it sounds _awful._ "

 

Angelique handed her the iPad. "Here."

 

Hermione skimmed. _Houngans, bokor_ , divination and deities -- all things she'd seen before, except --

 

Sookie frowned. "It's in French," she said.

 

"Oh, right." Angelique reached over and scrolled through a couple of screens until she reached the translation.

 

Sookie exhaled loudly. "Can you explain this?" she asked impatiently. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

 

"It goes back to Haitian vodou in the eighteenth century," Angelique said. "There were your run-of-the-mill vodou witches and wizards, of course, but there were also people called _Mambos,_ who were..." She paused. "More magical than normal wizards, by nature."

 

She pointed to the screen, to a drawing of a _bokor_. “There were also these other sorcerers around, powerful by training instead of by nature, and they would exploit the inborn magic of the _Mambos_ to create zombies. Amplify their energy, so to speak."

 

Hermione studied a line drawing: a _bokor_ sorcerer with his wand aimed at a writhing _Mambo_ surrounded by a halo of light. "And they'd aim that energy at the zombie," she said. "Like Sookie did for Pam."

 

"I really am a tool," Sookie said mildly.

 

"Sort of." Angelique sat back. "I was acting as the sorcerer, Sookie as the _Mambo_. But since I wasn't sure if it would work, I asked my friend if I could use the amplifying spell on a fairy."

 

"I guess she said yes," Hermione said.

 

"Weeeeelll..." Angelique tilted her hand back and forth, a _so-so_ gesture. "Not in so many words."

 

Hermione looked at Sookie, who again gave her that enigmatic little shrug. "Informed consent," she said simply.

 

"I can see doing it for Bill," Hermione muttered, "but Pam?"

 

"Oh, she's not that bad," Sookie said.

 

"Anyway." Angelique gave Hermione a winning smile. "It worked, didn't it?"

 

"Incredibly dangerous and stupid," Hermione said, "but if it worked...I guess progress is progress."

 

"By the way," Sookie added, "you never did tell me how long I'm going to glow."

 

Angelique gave her a guilty look. "I have no idea," she admitted.

 

Sookie made a face and examined her arm. "I guess it's not that bad," she said, "but it's going to be hard to sleep, now that I'm a human night light."

 

"Sorry," Angelique said.

 

"Hey." Sookie looked up. "Eric."

 

Angelique nodded. "Whenever you feel up to it."

 

"Tonight," Sookie said.

 

Hermione looked down at her hands, laced together in her lap. Eric would be cured.

 

Tonight.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

It was still an hour to nightfall when Hermione climbed down to Eric's room and curled against him. He didn't budge, of course, sound asleep or soundly dead or whatever exactly he was during the day, but she pulled her comforter around her and put her cheek against the cool planes of his chest and closed her eyes.

 

"You're crying," was the first thing he said when he woke.

 

"Not much." She reached up and wiped her tears off his chest.

 

He took her chin in his fingertips and tipped her face toward his. "Why?"

 

"Because -- " She couldn't meet his eyes. "It's irrational."

 

Pad of his thumb against the skin beneath her eyes. "Tell me."

 

"I'm happy," she said, turning toward his palm, "because Angelique found a way to break the spell on you."

 

He fell still. "I'll get my memories back."

 

"If it works the way it worked on Pam, yes."

 

"Pam is healed?" Sharply. His fingers tightened on her upper arm.

 

She nodded. "I haven't seen her yet, but she was with Angelique all night."

 

If he breathed, she thought he would have exhaled with relief. "Good."

 

"But..." Hermione trailed off. She swallowed hard, feeling the sting of fresh tears in her eyes. "I'm glad," she said again. "But I'm going to miss you."

 

He tangled his fingers in her hair, pressed her against him. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

 

"I was just thinking." She wrapped her arm around his waist. "About what you asked me. If I'd feel the same way about you once you got your memories back."

 

"And?"

 

She tightened her grip. "Yes."

 

He kissed her hard.

 

"Me too," he said roughly.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Afterwards, watching him dress, she thought _I'm going to lose him._

She thought about the way he'd looked when he first asked her for the healing potion for Sookie. About the way his face had changed every time Sookie came up in conversation, before Marnie's enchantment.

 

Yes, she would lose him.

 

He pulled a T-shirt over his head and looked over his shoulder at her. "You're awfully quiet."

 

She rolled onto her back because it was easier to stare at the ceiling than at his concerned expression. Her chest hurt.

 

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

 

In a half-second he was poised over her, hands on her face, forcing her to meet his eyes.

 

"Nothing will change," he said firmly.

 

She nodded mutely.

 

He caught her tears on his fingertips, kissed her eyelids with more sweetness than she would ever have imagined he possessed. She was still, feeling him, memorizing the brush of his lips against her skin.

 

Then: "It's time to go," she said, and steeled herself, and sat up.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

They formed a triangle in Sookie's living room: Angelique, Sookie, Eric. Hermione stood next to Pam against the wall, her wand out, ready for damage control should such a thing be necessary.

 

"Ready?" Angelique asked.

 

Eric found Hermione's gaze. "Ready," he said.

 

"Ready." Sookie was still glowing faintly.

 

Angelique closed her eyes. She lifted her wand, looping it in slow circles around her head.

 

" _Gonfler vitalit_ _é_ _f_ _é_ _e,"_ she said. She aimed her wand at Sookie and opened her eyes.

 

The blast of light from the end of the wand was as bright as a star. Sookie absorbed it, reflected it, magnified it.

 

" _NOW_ ," Angelique shouted, and Sookie held both hands toward Eric, and closed her eyes, and pushed the light to him.

 

It looked as though he'd been hit with a fireball, but he hardly swayed. His eyes on Hermione didn't move, not exactly, but they _changed._ Focused. Hermione could almost see the doors opening, the synapses re-forming. He stared at her as though he had never seen her before in his life.

 

"Ow," Sookie said. She'd landed hard on the floor when the energy had discharged.

 

Eric's gaze swung from Hermione to Sookie, and Hermione saw comprehension in his eyes, shock.

 

"Sookie," he said, with surprise.

 

Hermione's heart broke.

 

" _Semper absentis,_ " she whispered, and Disapparated the hell out of there.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

She Apparated into the foyer of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry had renovated it a few years ago and he and Ginny had used it fairly regularly as a weekend retreat, but with the increased demands of their family life, they came less and less often. Hermione had a key, though, and Harry had told her she was welcome any time.

 

She saw immediately that the house wasn't empty. The darkened foyer was in disarray, for one thing, and there were three pairs of men's shoes against the wall. And someone was moving around upstairs.

 

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Hermione let out a cry as her wand flew out of her hand. She took a step back, her gaze going to the top of the stairs and to the tall figure silhouetted there.

 

" _Severus,_ " she gasped.

 

"Hermione," he said, and he sounded every bit as stunned as she felt.

 

"What are you -- " she started to say, at the same moment he said " _Accio wand_ ," and her wand went buzzing by her head.

 

He turned on the lights, came down the stairs, handed the wand to her. "I'm so sorry," he said, tucking his own wand into the pocket of his pajama pants.

 

She took it mutely, put it back into her belt, and looked at him. Just looked. She had a thousand questions -- the first, obviously, being what the hell was he doing in Harry's house -- but she found herself utterly unable to form a coherent thought.

 

Rumpled and barefoot, he looked ten years younger.

 

He moved with such agility and confidence that Hermione found she was having a difficult time reconciling this Severus with the pinched, unhappy man she'd known for so many years. He'd gained weight and muscle since he'd taken Eric’s blood: his arms beneath his T-shirt were corded and strong.

 

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, and her voice caught in her throat, thin and dry.

 

He was gazing at her. She looked away.

 

"I live here," he said finally.

 

"You..." She felt as though the world was spinning off its axis. "You live here?"

 

"I didn't exactly need the assistance of Mr. Thomas after..." He gestured toward her. Toward himself. "The good Mrs. Potter and I have an arrangement."

 

"An...arrangement?"

 

"Well." A smile curled the corners of Severus's thin lips. "In a manner of speaking. I've been working as Head Alchemist at St. Mungo's for the past six months."

 

"You..." Hermione trailed off. Her old job. But now under Ginny. "So. Room and board in exchange for your employ."

 

He nodded. "I assumed he'd have told you."

 

"No -- I -- " Hermione shook her head hard. Harry _had_ mentioned, sometime around Halloween, that Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place might be tied up for a while. But she hadn't asked for elaboration, and she certainly hadn't expected _this._

"Come sit down," Severus said.

 

She followed him silently into the living room.

 

"Tea?" he asked, and she nodded. While he was in the kitchen, she looked around the room: it was much the same as she'd last seen it, but there were a few touches that were uniquely Severus. An oversized alchemist's cabinet against one wall. Bottles and jars on the shelves. Piles of Potions books stacked near the couch.

 

"Here." He put two cups of tea on the coffee table.

 

"You're so..." She trailed off, her eyes on him. "Tall."

 

He arched an eyebrow. "No taller than I was before."

 

"Right." She looked at her hands in her lap. What was she doing here? What was she _doing_? Eric would be --

 

She caught herself. No. Eric wouldn't be anything. She'd enchanted herself so she'd be untraceable, not that it mattered. Eric had his memories, now, and Sookie. Which was the way it should be.

 

And that left her here. With Severus.

 

Maybe that was the way it should be, too.

 

She felt suddenly horrible: empty and lonely and insignificant. "I need some air," she said, and stood.

 

She was outside on the back deck for a good ten minutes before she heard the door quietly open and close behind her.

 

She swiped at her tears. "Hi."

 

"Do you want to..." He paused. "Talk about it?"

 

"No." She glanced at him. So familiar, the high cheekbones and hooked nose and slightly sagging jawline.

 

"You came here to stay," he said. It wasn't a question.

 

She nodded.

 

"Eric?" he asked.

 

She nodded again, fresh tears burning her eyes. "Long story," she said.

 

"There's a guest room," he said.

 

"I don't think that's a good idea." She turned away from him. "I can stay with Harry and Ginny."

 

"They have two small boys and a toddler," Severus pointed out.

 

"The Leaky Cauldron."

 

And then Severus's hand, warm on her shoulder, turning her. "Don't be an idiot," he said roughly. "Stay with me."

 

She sighed. "All right," she said.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

When she came downstairs the next morning, he was dressed and sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of tea, making notes in the margins of an ancient-looking text.

 

"You still write in books," she said.

 

He looked up at her. Smiled. "It's nice to be able to do it again," he confessed. He put the quill down and stood. "How did you sleep?"

 

"Well enough." She sat down.

 

"Feel better today?"

 

"Yes." She watched him move across the kitchen, pouring tea, opening the refrigerator. Marveled at his easiness, at the way his muscles all worked in harmony with each other.

 

She sipped the tea he brought her, burned her tongue. "Thanks."

 

Quick nod. "You're welcome."

 

When he reached for the quill again, she intercepted, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He sat quietly as she turned his right hand this way and that, examining him.

 

"Satisfied?" he asked at last, wryly.

 

She let go. "I suppose," she said.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then he glanced at the clock. Stood. "Work."

 

"Right." Hermione pushed her teacup away.

 

"You don't have to go," he said quickly.

 

She bit her lip. "I should."

 

"I had thought you were past worrying about _should,_ " he said dryly. "Would you like to come with me?"

 

"With you?" She thought about that. She hadn't set foot in St. Mungo's in -- was it two years now, or three?

 

He leaned toward her, his eyebrows lifting. "They'd like to see you," he said.

 

So she spent the day beside him, and saw all her old friends and coworkers, and they chastised her for not keeping in better contact, and she laughed and promised she would try harder. She worked with him, quietly, their elbows brushing every once and again, and when the sun started to go down they Apparated home and stood in the living room and looked at each other.

 

"Severus -- " she said, as he said "Hermione -- " and then his hands were on her shoulders and he was kissing her.

 

Her lips parted more in surprise than anything else, but he was as familiar as home, and she couldn't help it: she returned the kiss. She put her hands on his waist, drew back enough to say: "I can't do this."

 

His expression darkened. "Because of Eric."

 

"No." She looked away. "Because of you."

 

"What do you mean?" He extricated himself from her hands and sat down on the couch.

 

"It isn't fair to you," she said. "Coming to you when I'm sad about someone else." She sat down next to him.

 

"You should let me decide what's fair every once in a while," he said.

 

She let out a heavy sigh and put her face in her hands. "This isn't supposed to be so difficult _._ "

 

"Who's making it difficult, Ms. Granger?" he asked, and his tone was a little gentler, now. She felt his hand on her back, and after a moment he put his arm around her.

 

She frowned. "Me. You." But she didn't resist when he pulled her closer. She rested her head against his shoulder: "What are we going to do about this, Sev?"

 

No answer but his sigh.

 

She kicked her shoes off, pulled her feet up onto the couch, and burrowed under his arm. Closed her eyes. Felt him waiting.

 

It would be so much easier, she thought, if she wanted him like she wanted Eric. She wouldn't keep hurting him, then.

 

She rolled her head, feeling tension knotting her neck.

 

"Here," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, and she wanted to pull away. Wanted to, but didn't. What was it about him that drove her to all these misguided decisions? He had mapped her life with everything she shouldn't do.

 

His fingers kneaded and burrowed, smoothing away the knots and creases in her muscles. And after a moment, she felt his lips on her neck.

 

She flinched. Pulled away.

 

"Please," he said, his voice low and desperate. "Just once. Just this last. Please."

 

She looked at her hands. "Severus -- "

 

"Look at me." Suddenly he sounded angry. "Look at me, Hermione."

 

She turned and met his gaze. Dark eyes, so familiar, and suddenly she thought about a life without him in it. He was so constant, so _there_ ; he'd sculpted nearly every part of her for the past fifteen years and she realized, at that moment, that she simply assumed his presence. Consciously or not, she took him for granted.

 

And a life without him would be utterly unrecognizable.

 

"I should write you more often," she said.

 

He blinked at the non sequitur, the frustration fading from his expression. "What?"

 

She felt a wave of bittersweet affection for him sweep over her. "I never told you how important you are to me," she said. She laid her hand along his jaw. "And you are, Sev."

 

He reached up, covered her hand with his. "You didn't have to tell me," he said, and his eyes went dark and sad. Then: "You're in love with him."

 

_Love._

Despite the look on Eric's face in the moment he regained his memory. Despite Sookie. Despite everything.

 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't give you what you need."

 

"All I need," he said, taking her hand away from his cheek and pressing it to his lips, "is to know you'll be happy with him."

 

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine saying yes to Severus.

 

Moving back to London. Her old friends. Her old work. Living in the house that already contained so much of their history. He loved her; he'd always loved her. And she'd never given him a chance.

 

Didn't he deserve that, at least?

 

Gently, she took her hand out of his. Saw the heartbreak and resignation in his eyes for a split second before she put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his heart.

 

"I have never been more grateful," she said softly, feeling his hands on her back, "for anyone, Sev, than I am for you. Always."

 

"Always," he repeated. His hands fell to his lap.

 

She stood. "I'll write to you," she said, and he nodded, and looked away.

 

She turned west. Toward Eric.

 

Toward home.

 

_fin._  


End file.
